


For He Had Eyes and Chose Me

by theangryuniverse



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Character Study, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Consent is Sexy, Don't read this at church, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, I wrote this when I should have been writing my thesis, It's filth, Katsuki Yuuri is a Tease, King Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Romance, Royalty AU, They spend too much time in the bedroom, Yuuri is a BAMF, intersex omega, so much filth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 71,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26896636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse/pseuds/theangryuniverse
Summary: Heavy is the head that wears the crown.It is a truth that is universally acknowledged, and it is a burden that threatens to suffocate Victor every singe day.But as duty calls and traditions demand to be fulfilled, a young man named Yuuri comes into Victor’s life like a breathtaking force – and with him, the potential to shake the kingdom to its core.Never has Victor played a more dangerous game.Never has the price been so enchanting.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 365
Kudos: 578





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lorelai_walker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorelai_walker/gifts).



> It just... came over me.  
> You know that I'm weak for any sorts of AUs. Especially royalty AUs.  
> This will be a much shorter fic than the others (*glances at The Pakhan's Jewel and sweats*) but I thought it would be best to break it up into chapters before it gets one HUGE thing. Much easier to read! The chapter number might change (but not much).
> 
> Now sit back, hold your tea or beverage of your choice, and enjoy.

It is an old custom that the young omegas of the high houses in the realm are sent to the king, to bring honour to their house, and to be mated.

It is a custom as old as time, and if one were to ask the many historians of the palace, one would receive many different answers about its origin. Some claim that it developed during the Great War, that it was a gesture of the defeated meant to beg the monarch for mercy. Others argue that it was the will of the thousand gods, that the young omegas were to be brought to the king, the gods’ natural representative on earth, as a sacrifice. And then, there are a few who are certain that it could be narrowed down to one specific king in the past that simply could not be satisfied with those offered to him at court and wished to deflower every single omega whose name was of somewhat importance.

Those few hardly ever voice their suspicions out loud, and one will only ever find them speaking about it in hushed voices.

To criticise the custom means to criticise the king, and that means to lose one’s head.

(Although there have only been two executions in the capital since the prince became king. But one prefers not to speak about that, for it might mean to criticise the king yet again.)

The omegas are never to be seen, never to be heard, their presence only ever known to the king and to the carefully selected servants of his household. They are the ones who bring the omegas to him in the evening and take them back to their chambers again once they have fulfilled their duty. The omegas will stay in the palace for thirty days, each of them hoping that maybe, a miracle will happen, and they will become the king’s favourite. That the king will call for them a second, a third, yes, a fourth time, that perhaps the gods might bless them with the king’s child.

However, it never happens, and they are sent home once thirty days are over, returning to their lives as they were.

King Victor never chooses any favourites.

Of course, sometimes, it might happen that he calls for an omega twice, but never more often than that. Once the thirty days are over, they are sent back to where they came from, bringing honour to their house, proving themselves ready to be married, and that was that. None of them hold his interest for a longer amount of time, no scandals ever surround him, nothing worthy of gossip ever leaves the king’s bedchamber – much to the disappointment of the countless courtiers. At the same time, it leaves them the hope that perhaps, the king might choose one of their children as his eventual mate instead of the offspring of a noble house from the far end of the country.

And that is, naturally, a very desirable fate.

Therefore, no one bats an eye as yet another omega arrives at the palace to fulfil the ancient tradition in the name of his house. And yet, the moment he sets foot on the marble floor of the palace, one might be able to feel the change that is coming.

The king notices none of it, for he is too occupied, and there are many things to do.

King Victor has little patience for the omegas that are sent to him, the tradition slightly annoying to him, even. But he truly cannot deny that regular mating, the regular release that it gives, keeps his head clear and his thoughts focused. Truly, he knows that the omegas are the very last people to blame for this tradition, for they are only doing what is expected of them. He also knows that many of them have high hopes, hopes that are always deceived.

He has no time for them.

He has no time to make the effort.

The map on the table is large, with wooden blocks marking the locations of the most important cities. Petersburg, the capital, sits right in the middle by the great river, which, if followed, opens up into the great sea. The shore is lined with cities, each of them ruled by the high houses, each of them proudly calling themselves free. The title means nothing, of course, for the king holds the power, but it has a nice ring to it – to be called a free city.

It pacifies the high houses, and as long as they do not revolt, the king lets them be.

They need him more than he needs them.

Besides the big cities with important high houses, there are the smaller ones, of course. Those are the ones that his late father has always neglected – a fatal mistake, Victor has realised very soon after becoming king. In a powerful chain, all elements are essential in order to make it unbreakable, regardless of their size.

Much to his frustration, the historians and scribes have neglected those cities, too.

The king turns away from the map, realising that the sun is about to set, and that his stomach has been growling for quite some time now.

And there is yet another omega waiting for him in his bedchamber, anticipating the night to fulfil their duty.

Those nights usually follow a certain ritual. The king’s servants serve dinner in his private chambers and draw the bath for him while he eats. In the bath, he closes his eyes for a while, tries to clear his head and lets the oils that have been added to the water enchant his senses, but it all soon becomes too much. He rises from the bath, reaches for the towel and dries himself off. Then, he reaches for his evening robe, and he ties it in the front before approaching the open window to cool down, to breathe in the evening air.

Nothing ever changes about this routine.

Nothing new is ever added to it, none of it is ever let out.

How dreadfully dull.

A bark breaks the silence, followed by the excited whines of a dog and a surprised, gentle laugh.

The king opens his eyes.

The dog barks again, followed by the soft coos of someone that has not expected an animal’s company but is delighted nonetheless.

Who the dog is Victor knows, of course. Makkachin is what his friend calls ‘the only woman in his life’. She has been with him since he was little, and although she is old now, she is still incredibly loyal, and holds a very special place in the king’s heart.

Who it is that is talking to her, however, the king can only guess.

He closes the window and approaches the door, pushing down the handle as he steps into the adjacent room.

In the middle of his bedroom he finds Makkachin, his loyal dog, and the only constant thing in his life. The sight of her in here alone is unusual in itself, for he usually does not keep her in here, where he needs his peace and quiet, and his servants know to keep her out when there is an omega waiting for him. But there she is, bouncing up and down in front of a young man that Victor has never seen before. The man is smiling, and his eyes are sparkling in delight as Makkachin puts her paws on his thighs in her usual greeting fashion.

She hardly ever greets anyone.

And then, just as the door falls shut behind the king, the omega looks up, recognises him, and his eyes widen before he casts his gaze down again and bows. At the sudden change in his behaviour, Makkachin whines and turns around, her tail wagging at Victor’s sight and she runs to greet him.

“There, girl,” Victor murmurs and briefly rubs her head before he opens the door again and lets her out, giving her a firm pat on the back. Then, he closes the door again and turns back to the omega, who stands now where he is supposed to be, gaze lowered and hands clasped demurely before him.

The king studies him carefully, merely alone for the fact that his Makkachin has reacted like this to a total stranger. At first glance, there is nothing about him that makes him different from the ones that came before him. He is dressed like them, in the thin, silken robes of the palace, holds himself like them with his head lowered submissively before the king.

There is nothing extraordinary about him, the king thinks, approaching the omega the way he approaches them all, reaching out to lift the omega’s chin.

The omega’s face is pale and beautiful, like porcelain.

“What is your name?”

The omega shivers, but responds promptly. “Y-Yuuri of Hasetsu, your majesty,” he says quietly, gaze still lowered.

The name Hasetsu rings a bell in Victor’s head – faintly, at first, and he wonders where he has heard it before. In fact, he has read it, he realises then. On the map. The name of a free city, small and so far unimportant, yet still part of the realm.

Hasetsu, the free city at the shore of the northern sea. Victor knows little of it, only that it is a popular harbour for the ships that go out towards the northern islands. There is money to make.

Money that his late father had not seen.

“Look at me,” Victor says, his fingers still gently grasping the omega’s chin.

The omega, whose name is Yuuri, lifts his gaze and looks Victor directly in the eye. Strictly speaking, it is not forbidden to do so, but highly unusual. The omegas before him always kept their gaze lowered, lifting it just enough to look at the king’s jaw, perhaps, but never into his eyes. Perhaps, the king thinks, certain things are different in Hasetsu.

But he finds that he does not mind.

There is depth in the omega’s eyes, depth and mystery and brutal kindness that dares to slay those that wish to exploit it.

That much Victor realises the moment their eyes meet, and nothing more.

He lets go of the omega’s chin again, slowly, and not without caressing his jaw with his touch. “Yuuri of Hasetsu,” he says. “Tell me about this city of yours.”

The king walks away to the small sitting area where the room opens up to the balcony, reaching for the carafe of wine that always waits there for him. For a long moment, the omega does not appear to move, too taken aback by the king’s unusual behaviour – for this is truly not what he has been told about how this night would go. So he stands there, frozen, a thousand thoughts on his mind as the king pours the wine into cups and sits down, waiting.

“You may take a seat,” Victor says to the uncertain omega, who only then seems to be able to move and sits down on the chair opposite to him, slowly, as if afraid of breaking it. The cup of wine is pushed across the small table between them.

“I would like to hear more about your home,” The king says. “Hasetsu.”

The omega looks at him in utter surprise and confusion. None of this is part of the protocol, indeed. The protocol states that the omega is to be taken to bed, to be enjoyed by the king, and that this alone will bring the highest honours to the omega in question. There is nothing about political conversations, or conversations in general, written in the protocol.

None of this is part of the protocol. Not part of any tradition.

But oh well. A king may have his fun in breaking it.

“The wine is not poisoned,” he adds, and finally, the omega takes the cup and takes a small sip that might as well not have been there.

The omega swallows, and lifts his gaze again, once more looking the king directly in the eye.

“What do you wish to know, your majesty?”

None of this is how it should go between a king and the omega sent to him.

Both of them know this, and yet, the omega is asking questions back instead of answering those directed at him straight away. Any other day, Victor would have not tolerated any of this – at least that is what he keeps telling himself, even now, although he knows deep down that this is not the case. The omega amuses him for some reason, from the way he looks at him to the fact that he asks questions back, as if there were not an ounce of fear of the crown in him.

Incredibly intriguing.

“Tell me about the place,” the king says and takes a sip from his own cup. “As you would describe it to a foreigner in these lands. Describe it from your perspective.”

The omega blinks and shifts on his seat, the request so unusual to him that he needs a few moments of silence to think about what to say. But the king is a patient man, even more so when he wants something, knowing that every thing under the sun needs its time if it is only worth it.

“Hasetsu lies at the shore of the northern sea,” the omega begins carefully. “It is not as big as the neighbouring cities, but it has a better harbour with more space for the ships. It has become relatively rich by trade with the northern islands and has several hot springs to offer. Many of them possess various healing powers.”

“The trade mainly concerns silk, if I remember correctly,” the king says. “What else?”

“N-Not just silk, your majesty,” the omega says. “But also sake. The wine of the region.”

The name faintly rings a bell, but the king does not concern himself with what is poured into his cup as long as it is good.

“What is the atmosphere?” he asks then. “The spirit of the city?”

The omega blinks, and then lowers his gaze to look at the cup of wine in his hand. For a long moment, he says nothing, and the king wonders if he will get an answer at all. But then, the omega seems to smile to himself.

“Hasetsu is a quiet place,” he says eventually. “Not quiet in the sense that there are no people, for there are many, but… it is not gripped by the fever that gives life to other places. Hasetsu is guided by the silence and the contemplation in the heart of its people. The streets are bustling with life, of course, but in a different way, as if the chaos were orderly. It has brought Hasetsu fortune and riches in various forms. It is a proud city.”

And the pride, the king realises, resides in the omega, too.

“What about the harbour,” he asks, crossing his legs as he leans back. “Tell me about the harbour.”

The omega tells him everything he wishes to know – and with every word that he speaks, Victor understands that this particular omega has most likely lived a life very different from the most sheltered one that the ones that came before him had. For most noble families, it is considered bon ton to keep their omega children hidden away from sight and away from the world. This fate has clearly not been the case for this child of Hasetsu, who can tell his king about his home in vivid detail, in a way that is exclusive to those that have actually seen and experienced it.

And while he speaks, the king studies him closely, takes in the features of his face and the sparkle in his eyes.

How late it is Victor only realises when he looks up again and finds that the sky has turned dark outside. From his bedroom window, he has a beautiful view of the city below, and sees its windows illuminated by candles.

The omega has fallen silent, hands clasped around the cup of wine on his lap, and the king remembers why they are here.

He rises, and so does the omega, for no one must sit when the king stands. Victor approaches him and takes the cup out of his hand, placing it on the table to be cleared away in the morning.

Standing so close to him now, the king cannot deny that the omega they sent to him tonight is beautiful. His cheeks are rosy, even more so in the light of the candles, and his eyes have the characteristic shape of the people in the north. They are what Victor finds the most extraordinary about him, for what he finds in them unsettles him greatly, and he has never known a thrill like that before.

And yet, he sees that the omega shivers, and he cups his cheek to brush his thumb over his lips.

“Are you afraid?” He asks him quietly.

He would not be the first.

“No, your majesty,” the omega replies softly, without hesitation, and that alone startles the king.

“Then why are you trembling?”

The omega’s eyes flicker to the open window behind the king, and Victor understands.

Anyone would feel cold, he realises, sitting in nothing but in sheer robes and with bare feet.

He runs his finger along the omega’s cheekbone, the skin incredibly soft under his touch.

“Then we shall get warm together,” he says. “Do you consent?”

The omega visibly shivers this time, but there is no fear in his eyes, only a sense of anticipation as he nods, and Victor lifts him up into his arms as the sheer robe slides off the omega’s shoulders, and carries him to the bed on the other side of the room.

There, the king carefully puts him down on the mattress before he takes off his own robe and joins him, admiring what has been gifted to him tonight.

Even that feels different now to the king, who usually does not even take the time to take a longer look at the omegas who have come to share the bed with him. Of course, he looks them over, and finds some of them prettier than others, but never has he had an actual voice to a beautiful face, has never seen a face behind the façade. What he sees now is a young man who knows why he is here, and who seems not afraid of any of it. Of course, there have been other confident ones before him, just as there have been those that trembled so much that Victor had hardly known what to do. But this omega’s confidence seems different, almost challenging, Victor thinks as he touches him.

But just like all the others, the omega before him blushes as he feels the king’s hand on his thigh, and the blush spreads down all the way under his shift. For the first time, the omega appears to him just as fragile and young as the others, gone the aura of unshakeable confidence as he shivers.

“Are you still cold?” Victor asks quietly.

The omega swallows. “No, your majesty,” he whispers.

“Then why are you shivering, still?”

“Because I am happy to lie with you, your majesty.”

Victor leans over him, studying the omega’s face, searches for any hints of a lie in his eyes. Of fear, of uncertainty, of anything of the sort, really.

He finds nothing.

“Happy, you say,” Victor says, reaching out to touch the omega’s cheek again. As if out of sheer instinct, the omega responds to his touch, turning his head ever so slightly to lean into the tender gesture of kindness. “Why are you happy?”

The omega looks up at him through his lashes, dark eyes shimmering in the light of the candles like polished pearls. “There is no greater honour, your majesty.”

He says it with such certainty that Victor is inclined to believe him.

“But should it not be the highest honour to lie with the one you are bound to instead?” He asks him, his finger tracing the line of the omega’s cheekbone. “With your mate? The one whose children you will bear?”

“There is no greater honour than to lie with _you_ , your majesty,” the omega says again.

He has dangerous eyes, Victor realises only as he almost loses himself in them. Eyes that threaten to grasp his soul and pull it into darkness. A darkness that almost seems comforting.

“Your name is Yuuri,” the king says, “isn’t it?”

The omega nods.

Victor’s hand wanders up his thigh, pushing up his shift to his waist. His skin almost feels like silk under his fingertips, warm and inviting. His hand moves further, slipping between Yuuri’s legs, finding with ease what has been gifted to him. And even then, even as the king’s fingers enter him, does the omega lay still. He breathes evenly, his eyes have fallen shut, and he almost appears as if he were sleeping.

One should paint him like this, Victor thinks involuntarily.

And what a painting it would be.

One to hide away from the world, to be enjoyed only in the darkest of nights, in the light of a single candle.

“Look at me,” Victor whispers.

Yuuri opens his eyes.

“Do you consent?”

Victor does not know why he is asking the question again. But it comes over his lips the moment Yuuri looks at him, the moment those eyes take him hostage, and he knows that he must know the answer.

“I do.”

Yuuri’s voice is barely more than a whisper, but it is there, shaking Victor to the core.

He places his hand on the omega’s waist hovering over him as he settles between his legs, unable to resist the urge to touch his face again, to run his fingers along the lines of Yuuri’s face. And Yuuri sighs, sighs so beautifully as he closes his eyes and leans into his king’s touch, and Victor knows that it is time.

The moment he takes him, a groan comes over his lips, a groan so deep in his chest, and so primal that Victor fears to lose his mind over it. The body beneath him is warm, and soft, and so incredibly pure that the world seems to slow down, as if to give them time to relish each other. But the king is only a man, and never before has he had such a willing, such a fascinating and tempting omega in his bed.

Tonight, he is not the most patient he could be.

A gasp of surprise is all that comes over Yuuri’s lips as the king thrusts into him and takes what is his, the sensation causing him to instinctively grab the pillow his head is resting on as the king enjoys him. Victor holds him close, wraps an arm around his waist and reaches even deeper, squeezing his eyes shut as he loses himself in the pleasure of the act, pleasure that has rarely ever felt as intense as it does now. It is as if the omega’s body were luring him in, fitting perfectly against his own, as if chiselled from the finest marble just for him.

Something deep inside him keeps him from losing control for good, from becoming what many men are and he never wants to be, allowing him to remind himself of the moment. That in his arms is a living, breathing being. A being so divine, so enticing that Victor knows that he must see him again, despite the fact that their night is not even over yet. He pushes into him harder, and faster, but not a sound comes over Yuuri’s slightly parted lips. Not even as comes embarrassingly early and embarrassingly hard and buries his face in the omega’s neck as he groans. A tiny whimper is all that he can hear as Yuuri convulses around him and grips the pillow hard in what is the omega’s own release – unusual, and a blessing all the same.

And then, just like that, all the tension that he has carried fall from the king’s bones, and he collapses on top of the omega with a deep, satisfied sigh.

For how long they stay like this neither of them can tell. But it is longer, much longer than would be considered proper, both of them know that. But just as it is not Yuuri’s place to move, it is not the king’s will to do so. For the body beneath him is so warm, and so soft, and smells so heavenly after being mated for the very first time, the scent bewitching his senses.

One would have to be a fool, Victor thinks in the haze of the afterglow, to let this one ever go again.

Only with a lot of effort, he manages to raise his head and remove himself from the omega, whose face is adorned with the most enchanting blush. Truly, he would not be the first in the king’s bed to be embarrassed by what they have just done, but as Victor looks him in the eye, he sees the familiar sparkle in them.

“Are you well?” The king asks and brushes a strand of hair out of the omega’s face.

Yuuri nods. “Yes, your majesty,” he replies softly, and Victor runs his hand down his side to the omega’s waist.

“Are you in pain?”

Yuuri glances down to where the king’s hand rests right above his exposed thigh, at the mess they have made. For a brief moment, Victor wonders if there is anything he should say, or perhaps even explain, but then, the omega shakes his head at his question. “No, your majesty.”

There is not much more that he could ask for.

The tiredness that follows the act of mating sits heavy in Victor’s bones, and he is sure that Yuuri can feel it, too.

But he cannot stay, not tonight, and at least some sense of decorum should be kept.

And so, Victor slips out of bed and puts on his robe again to call for the servants that will bring the omega back to his rooms.

They work silently, not saying a word as they dress him and change the sheets to leave behind a clean, pristine bed for the king to sleep in. Victor wants to turn around, wants to watch the omega being taken care of, but it would not be right. It is an unspoken agreement to leave the omegas at least that moment of privacy, to let them have their dignity, and Victor is not sure if he would be able to stay reasonable in his current state if he were to turn around now.

Instead, he grips the cup of wine in his hands rather firmly, listening intently to the gentle rustling of the robes and of the footsteps on the floor.

“Will that be all, your majesty?”

The king turns his head at the sound of the servant’s voice, a sign that the omega is fully dressed again and ready to leave. And there he stands, between two of the most loyal faces that Victor knows, hands clasped demurely and his gaze lowered.

“Yes, thank you,” Victor says. “You may go.”

All three of them bow and turn around, heading towards the door to leave. One before Yuuri, one after him, almost shielding him with their bodies. They are good people, Victor knows that, but only for tonight he wishes that they were a little careless, that they would grant him full view of what he has enjoyed just now, and what he longs to have again.

But despite them, Yuuri holds his attention the longest; the sweet, enticing scent of the omega still heavy in the room. And then, just as he reaches the door, the omega turns his head, and their eyes meet again.

It is only for a second, and the door falls shut all too soon, but it is long enough for the king to realise that the sparkle in them means tempest.

* * *

The following day, a crisis shakes the palace, binding the king to his study and throwing all of his plans for the night out of the window.

It could be worse, really, he knows that. And yet, this inconvenience that he has the southern region to thank for comes at the worst of times. Even the council members notice how irritated the king is, and that his determination to get things out of the way seems to stem from something else, something that is not just a king’s natural concern for the state of his realm.

He sleeps little, mostly between the arrivals of various messengers. He eats even less, for he has no time for it. Only after one day and one night, the king gets to take a break, and as he lies down on his bed to rest, he breathes in the sweet scent of the omega that still clings to the pillow.

Victor falls asleep within seconds.

Although he wakes up much later than he had thought – so late that his servants have to wake him and encounter a king that is very, very reluctant to leave the bed – he does not feel as rested as he should. Even as the crisis is averted, the king does not quite feel like himself, and decides to postpone his plans once more.

For what he wants to do will require his full attention, and he cannot allow himself to be careless.

No one bats an eye as the king calls for the omega named Yuuri a second time, especially not his servants. It has happened often enough that sometimes, the king will call for an omega he has enjoyed a second time, and it does not get people to speculate.

The night he is brought to him for the second time, Victor asks him to tell him about Hasetsu and its education.

This time, the omega sits down right away as Victor offers him a seat, and accepts the wine without hesitation. But just like the first time, he looks him directly in the eye as he tells him about his home, in the passionate fashion that is so very unique to him. Yuuri’s eyes shine bright as he speaks of Hasetsu’s prestigious university, about the learned people that are highly respected where he comes from, and that education often matters more than riches.

“Have you attended this university, then?” Victor asks, and for the first time, the omega’s face falls.

“No, your majesty,” he says quietly and looks down at the cup of wine in his hands. “Omegas are not granted admission.”

Victor frowns, for that he has not known, and he wonders if that is also the case for the university of Petersburg.

He would have to look into it.

“So you were not able to learn first-hand from these people,” the king says.

Suddenly, the corner of Yuuri’s mouth twitches. “At least not officially,” he admits and looks up again, his eyes sparkling with some sort of glee that Victor would have found dangerous in anyone else, but finds it most charming in Yuuri.

“Oh?” Victor raises an eyebrow. “Care to explain?”

“My sister,” the omega says, “she is older than me, and an alpha. She always took me with her to lectures. Without her, I would not have been able to attend, but her status and the name of our family were enough most of the time for people to look the other way. Even if some of the older people were seething when they saw me sitting there.”

At that, the king begins to laugh, and he laughs so heartily that even the guards standing outside the door find themselves tempted to exchange a glance. The king is not one to laugh freely, for he is mostly composed in the public eye, and especially when he is in the company of an omega. But Victor laughs, laughs at the image of elderly people spitting fire at the sight of the omega sitting in a public lecture, at the thought of the smug expression that must without a doubt adorn his face in such a moment.

“Excellent!” Victor chuckles and nods approvingly at Yuuri, who is smiling now, too.

It is a breathtaking smile.

“What was the name of your family again?” The king asks, still chuckling, and pours himself another cup of wine.

“Katsuki, your majesty,” Yuuri says. “My father is Toshiya and my mother is Hiroko.”

“Katsuki… Katsuki…” Victor thinks back to the map of the realm, back to the many books he had to study as a boy.

“We are not important, your majesty,” Yuuri adds softly and suddenly seems slightly embarrassed. “We are… rather small among the high houses of your noble kingdom. We hold very little power. We merely govern Hasetsu, and that is it. Hasetsu is but a small place.”

“That does not sound like little power to me,” Victor remarks and rises from the sofa. “Come. I will show you something.”

Yuuri frowns softly, but he puts the cup aside and rises, following the king through the room to the windows on the far end, the very ones that offer a view of the mountains beyond Petersburg. There, at the windows, the king reaches out and seems to trace the stars in the dark night sky.

As if he were able to touch them.

“If one follows the north star, and goes three to the left, and two stars down, one will find the ancestral seat of my family,” the king says as his hand stills right where the two large mountains meet. “A small town, barely a village a few hundred years ago. My ancestors governed first a handful of villages, then an earldom. Then followed the entire province. Over the course of the centuries, through the many wars and disputes and also thanks to many lucky coincidences, my family was able to become what it is now. But is a king much different from the leader of a village? Do they not share the same tasks, the same worries, the same concerns?”

The king lowers his hand again, this time, reaching for Yuuri’s face to caress his cheek. “The name Katsuki belongs to a high house for a reason, and I do not think my great-grandfather made a mistake by making you one. Your father is not a man of little power. Hasetsu may be smaller, and not as complicated in its issues as Petersburg or the entire kingdom, but the difference between him and me is a rather minor one. At least, that is how I see it.”

Yuuri shivers at the king’s touch just as much as he does at his words, and he knows that it is most unusual for the king to speak to someone in such a way. The king is known as a quiet man, a composed man that keeps thoughts and opinions to himself, a man that only ever becomes loud when the situation demands it.

But there are also those who say that the king is a philosopher, a thinker, a man who longs to understand the world even if it frustrates him. A man who likes to engage in debates.

Some of it Yuuri can see now, but there is also so much more. A king is a king to those who only see him that way. But even behind a king, a door can fall shut, and what is left is the man on whose head rests the crown.

And a heavy crown it is.

“You honour my family, your majesty,” he says softly. “My mother and father would thank you on their knees if they were here with us tonight.”

“That may be,” Victor says and gently brushes a strand of hair out of the omega’s face. “But tonight, it is only you and I.”

Yuuri lets out a shaky breath at that, closing his eyes as he turns his head ever so slightly to nuzzle the king’s palm. Perhaps it is forbidden to do so, perhaps he should not show what the king’s touch does to him, but his heart is an open book, and the king reads all of his secrets in it. Secrets of which he has very little, for he is only an omega of an unimportant family, but that does not mean he cannot take what his heart desires.

Even though he knows very little of desire, and what it can do to him.

He only feels it, and he feels it even more so when the king touches him like he does now, with such tenderness and care that the omega finds it very hard to believe that this man could ever be as cruel or heartless as some claim he is. A cruel and heartless man would never be capable of such gentleness.

“I feel honoured, your majesty,” he whispers and looks up at the king through his lashes.

Victor looks down at him in what Yuuri thinks is wonder, as if every word he says has a great impact on the man. But they are just that – they are merely words, and not even remotely enough to express what he feels when he is with the king. What he has felt from the very first time the king has laid eyes on him a few nights ago.

“Honour is one thing,” the king says and caresses his cheek, stepping closer to him as if to take in every inch of his face in the light of the candles that surround them and bathe the room in a warm light. “But it means nothing when it is not our free decision to accept it.”

Yuuri knows what it is that the king is asking, and the mere fact he is doing so is something he still struggles to grasp. The king could have anything.

And yet, he asks for permission.

“I am here out of my own, free will, your majesty,” Yuuri whispers, feeling the king’s breath on his skin, breathing in the scent that has enticed him already the very first time he lay with him. It is not as heavy now, but it is there, the scent of an alpha that desires him as much as Yuuri desires the king.

They are playing a dangerous game.

But oh, they play it so exceptionally well.

“I would like to see all of you,” Victor says quietly and touches Yuuri’s shoulder, right at the hem of his shift that already reveals more than it actually hides. It is made of the finest chiffon, of pristine white colour that only emphasises the blush on the omega’s cheeks. It is indeed fascinating how the omega’s demeanour changes again once he is in Victor’s grasp. His confidence is not gone, but his vulnerable side begins to shine through, as if only then remembering who he is with, and what might come of it. But he stands still before him, his eyes dark with desire as he speaks.

“I am yours, your majesty.”

Yuuri’s hand comes up to the thin strings that keep his shift together at the front, resting there, waiting. Victor’s hand follows him, their fingertips touching right above Yuuri’s heart.

There, he feels Yuuri’s heartbeat for the first time.

Yuuri’s heart is a force of its own, strong and powerful, right there beneath his touch, and Victor longs to feel it beating along to his own.

He pulls at the strings that hold the shift together, and it slowly comes off. It slides down Yuuri’s body with ease, leaving him nude before the king in the light of the candles.

Yuuri is shivering as he feels the king’s gaze on him, feeling it more than the cool evening air. Never has he been bare before anyone else, let alone an alpha, and especially not before a king. But he sees the sparkle in Victor’s eyes, sees the king’s eyes darken with want and with lust, and it thrills him that it is him who is the target of the king’s desire.

“Am I to your liking, your majesty?” He whispers, the question hardly more than rhetorical.

Victor licks his lips. “Oh, very much so,” he says and cups Yuuri’s cheek, tracing his jawline with his thumb. “You are a sight to behold.”

The omega leans into the king’s touch with what appears to be a content sigh. “I would like to see you, too, your majesty,” he says, and his dark eyes sparkle in anticipation as he waits for the king to respond.

It is a dangerous wish.

Never before has made an omega destined to be in Victor’s bed any sort of request. The realisation of it hits the king in just that moment, and yet, his first impulse is not to punish. Although by law, no omega that is brought to the king has the right to deny or to even make demands, Yuuri’s words do not make Victor angry.

If anything, they fascinate and entice him.

Victor’s hand slides down from Yuuri’s face to his clavicle. He shivers, the cool evening air kissing his bare body, but the king lifts him into his arms and carries him to the bed, to warmth, to safety. Victor lays him down with outmost care before he steps back, pulling his shirt over his body to follow Yuuri’s wish, allowing him to see him the way the gods have made him. He hears Yuuri gasp, just before Victor blows out the candles but a single one and joins him in bed.

It is not the first time that Victor has a naked omega in his bed, but it is the first time that he cannot stop looking. Yuuri is breathtakingly beautiful, skin like the finest porcelain and smooth like silk as Victor runs his fingertips over his body. He is like a goddess, Victor thinks, from the elegant curve of his collarbones, over the softness of his belly to the perfection that are his thighs.

A masterpiece, all of him, and meant for Victor alone tonight.

The room is quiet, no sound between them but the gentle rustling of the sheets and of the curtains that move in the cool evening wind as Victor tries to think of what to do next, for his head feels strangely empty, as if robbed of any sensible thought.

It is Yuuri who brings him back to his senses by reaching out to touch his face, so tenderly and with such care as if he were afraid of startling him. “Mylord?”

Victor closes his eyes for a moment and leans into Yuuri’s touch with a sigh, a sigh that, he realises, speaks of such loneliness and desire that he cannot hold back any longer, and he leans down to bury his face in Yuuri’s neck as he grabs him by the waist and takes what is so freely given to him.

He hears Yuuri gasp, gently, just like the first time he had him, but this time he can enter him with such ease as if there had never been the barrier of his maidenhead. Yuuri’s legs come around his hips, drawing him in, the song of his body crying out for Victor, and for nothing else.

And Victor gives him what they both so desire.

Yuuri moans softly into Victor’s ear, the sound of it like nothing he has ever heard. It is soft, tender, and yet it is so filled with want, with lust, and so much more.

All of it drives Victor to the brink of insanity.

Yuuri moves with him as if he had never done anything else, his body fitting against Victor’s perfectly. His hands reach around Victor, holding onto his shoulder blades as Victor thrusts into him, the king’s fingers digging into his flesh, leaving marks that the omega will carry with the greatest pride. It feels too strong, all of it too much, the emotions too intense, but neither of them would have traded this moment for anything else in the world. There is no greater joy, no greater bliss, that what the other is giving them, all of it what they so desperately need.

Victor thrusts harder and Yuuri cries out, his nails digging into Victor’s shoulders as he trembles beneath him, and that alone causes Victor to groan. For even the king is only a man, a man that takes great pride in pleasuring the omega that lies with him. And it is not just that, no. He wants Yuuri to feel good with him, wants Yuuri to feel what he feels, wants to make the omega sing and reach the heights of pleasure in his embrace. Victor knows that he is a skilled lover, but never has it meant more, has it had more importance than it does now.

It is not just about him now, he realises somewhere in the back of his mind that is hazy with desire and so much more.

It is about so many things.

Suddenly, Yuuri gasps, and the smallest, shyest of cries comes over his lips as he comes, taking Victor over the edge with him. He comes hard, with a groan louder than would be proper, and his mind goes blank.

There are arms around his neck. Tender, gentle arms that hold him in an almost loving embrace. Beneath him, right beside the king’s heart, beats another. It beats hard and fast after their mating, proof of Yuuri’s passion and exhaustion, and it fills Victor with pride to know that it was him who made him feel this way. He smiles into Yuuri’s neck, breathes in the omega’s heavy scent that is thick with seduction.

One might get drunk on it.

It takes Victor a lot of strength and willpower to lift his head to save at least some of his sanity. He searches Yuuri’s eyes, sees them shining in the light of the candle. His cheeks are adorned with the most irresistible blush, pearls of sweat glistening on his forehead. He is the most beautiful that Victor has ever seen him.

And then, Yuuri closes the small distance between them and kisses him softly on the lips.

Victor lets him.

Yuuri’s lips are incredibly soft against his own, his caress tender and careful, full of hesitation, and he pulls away all too soon, as if only realising now that what he has done is not allowed.

“Forgive me,” the omega whispers and seems to sink deeper into the pillows, as if trying to disappear.

But Victor grasps his chin and kisses him again, softly, and only for a moment. “There is nothing to forgive.”

Yuuri’s eyes shine as bright as the stars in the darkness that surrounds them.

Victor feels heavy as he finally withdraws himself from the omega and leaves the bed, only to return a moment later with a wet cloth to wipe away the remains of their mating. Then, he lies down at Yuuri’s side again and takes him into his arms. He is warm, so incredibly warm against him, and that alone soothes the king’s racing heart.

“Stay with me tonight.”

The omega curls up at his side, buries his face in the king’s neck with a purr, and more does Victor not need to know.

They fall asleep, and outside, it begins to rain.

* * *

The first thing Victor notices when he wakes up is Yuuri’s scent.

A sweet, heavenly scent right before him to indulge in. Someone is in his arms – Yuuri, he remembers. He is sleeping, breathing evenly, his hand resting on Victor’s that lies on his belly, their fingers intertwined.

It feels natural.

As if they had never done anything else before.

Never has Victor slept so well. His physician is the one who knows best that the king often suffers from sleepless nights, that he tosses and turns and simply cannot find any rest. None of this seems to be an issue now with the omega in his arms.

They have forgotten to close the window, the cool breeze making Yuuri shiver in his sleep, and he instinctively shuffles closer to the king, who pulls the duvet up to keep them warm. A soft, content purr is what he hears from Yuuri in return, and Victor’s chest swells with pride, and he buries his face in the omega’s hair, falling asleep the moment he closes his eyes.

The sun is rising above the capital as Yuuri stirs in Victor’s arms, and Victor pulls him closer out of sheer instinct. Never before has anyone in his bed ever been so tempting, so enchanting than Yuuri, and Victor gives in to the urge to kiss his neck. Yuuri sighs softly and moves against him, the feeling of skin against skin enough to arouse Victor again, to make the hunger and lust return, and he gently bites down on Yuuri’s earlobe.

“Do you consent?” He whispers, and Yuuri breathes a barely audible “yes.”

To have Yuuri like this, from behind, is an entirely different experience. The omega is like wax in his arms, panting into the pillow as Victor moves inside him, whining as Victor’s hand slips between his legs and teases him along with every thrust. And although their mating is short, and hardly enough for either of them, it satisfies their hunger for the moment.

Victor curls up around Yuuri in a protective embrace as their heartbeats slow down again after they have come. The day is approaching far too fast, the morning reminding them of the end of the night, and of their inevitable parting. But neither of them wants to move.

Even if they have to.

He turns Yuuri around, just enough to grasp his chin, and he presses a tender kiss to his lips.

It is only the second time that they are kissing, but it already feels more natural than anything else. It is slow, gentle, and unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world.

“Are you promised to someone, at home?” Victor asks him, the question having been on his mind ever since.

Yuuri shakes his head, an adorable blush on his face. “No, your majesty.”

Victor hums and reaches out to cup his cheek. “I find that very hard to believe,” he says. “For someone of your beauty and wit to not be promised to an alpha. But you must surely have many admirers.”

Yuuri chuckles. “Oh yes, your majesty.”

“Many?”

“Many.” Yuuri giggles, his eyes now sparkling in wicked glee at the declaration. As if he were proud of it, Victor thinks, and he finds that he finds that incredibly entertaining.

“And yet, you are not promised to anyone?” Victor asks and runs his hand down Yuuri’s waist.

Yuuri sighs, leaning into his touch. “My mother told me that I was a jewel to be kept pure for you, your majesty. That no alpha should have any sort of claim on me before you.”

“Your mother is a wise woman,” Victor hums and captures Yuuri’s lips in a kiss once more before he kisses his way down. He begins at his neck, sucking marks into his skin before he moves on to his clavicle, then to his chest. Yuuri’s breath hitches in his throat, and he watches the king caress his trembling body, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“So exquisite,” Victor whispers against his skin. “So flawless and divine.”

“Your majesty…” Yuuri breathes and his eyes fall shut as the king worships his body.

“I wish to see you again,” Victor hums and kisses his way up again to whisper into Yuuri’s ear. “Tonight.”

He feels Yuuri shiver in his arms, a shiver that speaks of excitement. “Y-Yes, your majesty,” the omega breathes, and Victor knows that the omega cannot wait for the night to come again either.

But not even a king can stop the world from turning, for the knock on the door interrupts them far too soon.

The world demands to be let in, and Victor has to face it.

“Here they come,” Victor sighs and pulls back, just enough to take a look at Yuuri’s face one last time before he has to get up and get ready for the day. Ready for the crown.

“Have breakfast here,” he says softly, caressing Yuuri’s cheek with his fingertips. “Have a bath and enjoy the day. But do not ever wander too far.”

Yuuri looks at him through heavy-lidded eyes as he turns his head, kissing Victor’s palm ever so softly.

“Never.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuuri learn more of each other under most usual circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am obsessed with this universe, oh God.  
> Thank you for your lovely comments so far! I don't know if it will remain at 5 chapters or go up one or two, that entirely depends on how long the chapters get and where I make the cuts. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: scared animals, injuries, descriptions of wounds.

The news that an omega has spent the night in the king’s bed spreads through the palace like wildfire.

And it is not just that, the servants report in shock in the kitchens and washing rooms. The omega has spent every single night with the king for seven days in a row, and so far, there seems to be no end in sight.

Of course, there have been a few times where the king has kept an omega in his room for a little longer. But never has the king clearly favoured them like the one he favours now. An omega from the north, the maids whisper into the ears of their mistresses who tell their husbands. An omega of the free city of Hasetsu. A true beauty, they say, with skin like porcelain and hair as dark as the night that has enchanted the king and hardly ever leaves his bed.

It is a scandal that actually is none, for the king has the right to do as he pleases.

No one has a say in his choice of a lover.

If one were to ask the scribes and historians of the palace, they would assure that in the past, stranger things have happened. That indeed, the great-grandfather of the king used to keep several favourite lovers over the years, growing eventually tired of every single one of them. It is what will surely happen to the northern omega, too, the courtiers agree amongst themselves. It is nothing but a simple whim of their king.

Or so they think.

The same thoughts have crossed the king’s mind as well. After all, he has never had a favourite, has never been intrigued by any of the omegas sent to him the way he is now. But he realises very soon that despite everything, Yuuri is not a simple whim.

Yuuri is on his mind in every moment, and it almost drives him insane.

After their second night together, Victor had arranged new rooms for him – beautiful, spacious rooms closer to his own chambers, with a stunning view of the rose garden. The first time Yuuri had laid his eyes on the flowers, he had gasped in amazement, and he had told Victor about the rose garden at his home in Hasetsu. While doing so, his eyes had been shining, and Victor had barely been able to look away.

These rooms have become Yuuri’s place of refuge, where he is safe from prying eyes and curious people. Victor had replaced the servants right away when he had heard about the gossip, the ones taking care of Yuuri now the most loyal servants that he knows. He has made clear to them that Yuuri will get what he wants whenever he wants, and is pleasantly surprised that Yuuri does not make a lot of use of this privilege. He will ask for a plate of fruit or for a special blend of tea, but nothing more.

When he is not with Victor, Yuuri seems to be shy and humble, and that fascinates Victor the most.

But his fascination with the omega must not occupy his entire being, for his duties as king demand his attention.

There are things that lie even beyond a king’s control. Victor has learnt that from his father as a young boy. The monarch must take care of their people, to make sure that they are safe and have enough to eat. It is also of importance, he had taught Victor many years ago, to make sure that the people are entertained and, in times of war and hardship, distracted.

There is a very thin line between entertainment and distraction.

These things can be controlled. The king can make sure that there is food to eat, clean water to drink, safety in the streets, education in the schools, entertainment in the theatres.

But what a king cannot control are the thoughts in people’s heads.

Thoughts, Victor has learnt a long time ago, are the inheritance of a people. Thoughts of unrest and hatred that are given from father to son, from mother to daughter, from generation to generation. Of course, there is always unrest and discontent in a kingdom, there are always certain groups of people that feel disconnected, who do not see themselves as part of the people. All of it is part of the kingdom’s long and bloody history that Victor carries on his shoulders.

The crown is heavy, especially when there are people who reject it.

But they are Victor’s duty, too.

It includes being nice and generous to people he actually despises – such as annoying ambassadors that come to him to kiss his feet and stab his back in the very same breath. There is a very thin line between being polite and rude, but Victor has mastered the art of creating a new face, a façade for the persona of the monarch. It is the face that the world knows of him, and Victor is aware of the image he has created. He is known as calm and composed, as a man that keeps opinions mostly to himself and only ever gets loud if needed. To some, he might even appear silly at times, as a man that spends more time with his dog than with politics and the affairs of the crown.

Only those that are fools dare to underestimate him and fall into this masterfully crafted trap.

No one is ever interested in the true face of the king.

The man that is just Victor has no place when there is the crown.

Victor realises it even more so the day he sits on the back of his horse and listens to the painfully awful anecdotes of the eastern ambassador – the very man they have arranged this hunt for, and whose endless chatter causes all game to flee before they can even reach for bow and arrow. The man is an idiot, and yet, Victor has to play nice.

He usually enjoys a good hunt – the fresh air against his face, the thrill of the chase, the strength of his horse. But terrible company, Victor realises with an inward sigh, destroys even this simple pleasure. The man talks, and talks, and Victor feels tempted to accidentally have his horse kick the ambassador’s. He exchanges a look with Chris, who rides beside him, and looks equally pained.

At least, he is not alone in his misery.

“Of course, there are fine forest to hunt in down in the forests of the south,” the ambassador says for what must be the fiftieth time that day. “The trees as high as the sky, the ground even and the air the freshest you could possibly breathe!”

Victor nods along patiently. “So I take it you have had enough time to become a skilled hunter.”

The ambassador laughs. “Oh, I would not call myself a master, your majesty, but I dare to say that I am quite good! There has yet to be a bird that I have not shot with a single arrow!”

Victor smirks. “I fear that our bird populations are protected after the harsh winters during my father’s reign. You must make do with the deer and boars, I’m afraid.”

“That is no problem, your majesty, not a problem at all!” The ambassador assures him with far too much confidence. “There are excellent deer in the south, too, but naturally, they cannot compare with those around Petersburg, where they are treated with such protection!”

“If he does not keep his mouth shut very soon, he will be the one who needs protection,” Chris muttered under his breath beside Victor, who struggles very much not to chuckle.

“Well,” Victor says to the ambassador and pulls the reins of his horse. “We certainly will not find the deer here, now that we have chased them away with our chatter.”

The ambassador’s eyes widen and he laughs nervously, bowing his head. “Of course, your majesty. Please do forgive me and my loose tongue. I shall vow to be silent from now on, when we search for deer!”

Victor doubts it very much, but he nods anyway. “Then let us follow the path. At this time of the day, the deer tend to gather at the shore of the river.”

He exchanges a glance with Chris and his guards and then guides his horse down this path that he knows so well, and for the first time in what seems to be hours, there is peace and quiet, the ambassador gone silent, and Victor allows himself to think of Yuuri.

What must he be doing at this time of the day, he wonders. Perhaps he is reading one of the books Victor has ordered for him from the royal library. The first time Victor had told him about the library, Yuuri’s eyes had begun to shine, and he had known that he had found a fellow lover of the written word in him. The books Victor has selected for him are of various topics, many of them poetry as Yuuri has expressed a fondness for the love language of the soul.

Perhaps he is in the rose garden, Victor thinks and smiles at the memory of Yuuri’s shining eyes at the sight of it. A rose in Yuuri’s hair would look lovely. Yes, perhaps he should order a gown for him with a rose pattern. It would look most enchanting.

For a moment, he wonders if Yuuri would enjoy a hunt, but immediately shakes his head at the thought. Yuuri is an omega, and has most likely never been taken along to a hunt like this. An omega’s scent is known to distract animals at certain times of their cycle, and therefore, bringing one along to a hunt is considered bad luck. Victor has never cared much for such superstitions.

No. A hunt is not where Victor wants to take Yuuri.

But to be alone with him, away from it all for some time, with only nature as their companion – it would be bliss.

Chris raises his hand and the group stops, holding their breaths as they listen to the rushing water of the river. And there, between the trees, they spot the deer by the river’s shore.

Victor reaches for his bow and arrow.

Their horses shoot out from between the trees and to the clearing, the deer running from them for their lives. A laugh escapes Victor as they chase after them, bow and arrow ready, the cool wind hitting their faces. A hunt like this always follows certain patterns, but it always ends with victory. The king is a skilled hunter, has been from the very beginning.

But certain things are only successful when all factors of importance come together at the right time, and nothing is more unpredictable than wild animals.

The deer suddenly change direction, heading down the southern paths, and Victor pulls the horse’s reins.

“Not down there!” Chris shouts and Victor knows he is right, for the valley is too uneven, too dangerous for galloping horses, but among them are those that do not know.

“Let me, your majesty!”

The ambassador suddenly shoots out from behind him, and before Victor can yell at the man, the deer suddenly change direction again at the sound of the other horse’s hooves. The birds scatter from the trees with loud cries and startled by the screams and shouts and by the cries of the birds, Victor’s horse roars and rears up, throwing off its master in the midst of its terror, down the valley.

Victor cries out as he slithers down the slope that is covered in leaves and dirt, feels the sticks, the twigs, the stones, the rocks that push against his body without mercy. The fall seems endless, as if he had been thrown into the deepest fires of hell by the mightiest force known to man. And then, his body hits the ground and the world finally stops spinning.

For a long moment, the forest is eerily quiet.

“YOUR MAJESTY!”

Victor groans as he rolls onto his back and reaches for his head, the high-pitched sound in his ears almost deafening before it slowly disappears and he realises that he is alive. He is alive, and he is in one piece, and the ambassador deserves to lose his head.

There are the angry barks of the dogs and the shouts of his men, footsteps on wet leaves, heavy bodies slithering down the slope to get to him. In their screams, Victor can hear the terror, the fear that their king might be heavily injured or even dead.

Victor lets out a cry of frustration, a cry of seething anger as he slowly sits up and holds his head right where it hurts.

“Victor!” Chris is the first to be at his side, grasping his shoulders. “By the gods! He is alright!”

He pulls Victor into a sitting position and looks him over. “Victor, your leg!”

Victor groans, still rubbing the side of his head as he follows Chris’ gaze down to his left leg. There, on his calf, blood comes from what appears to be a cut, staining his trousers and seeping into his boots.

“It is nothing!” He declares with a grunt and moves to stand with Chris’ arm around his waist. Carefully, he takes a tentative step forward, the pain only in the flesh of his calf, the bone not affected and in one piece.

What unbelievable luck, he realises as he holds onto his friend.

“My horse,” Victor says, looking up at the shocked guards that surround them. “Where is she? Is she hurt?”

“We caught her, your majesty,” one of the guards says and points up the hill. “She ran back to the clearing.”

At least that is a relief to Victor, who knows the mare well and trusts her to never throw him off on purpose. None of this is her fault – if anything, she is a victim to carelessness.

“That fucking moron,” Chris says through gritted teeth. “That ambassador! If I had my way here I would have him hanged!”

Just in that moment, said unfortunate fellow slithers down the slope and falls to his knees before the king. “Forgive me, your majesty!” He cries and throw himself before Victor. “Forgive me! Forgive me!”

“For goodness sake, do not weep into the earth!” Victor snaps, hissing as sharp pain flashes through his leg. “If you want to keep your head bring me my horse!”

“Yes, your majesty!” The ambassador stumbles over his own feet as he scurries up the slippery hill again, and Victor is glad to have him out of the way. Glancing down at his leg, he lets out a few curses under his breath.

“That I would fall and injure myself during a hunt, my friend,” he says to Chris as they slowly walk up the hill together, his leg hurting more with every careful step that he takes. “Only to think of it. How laughable.”

“It was not your fault, Victor,” Chris says patiently as he pulls him along, his grip firm around Victor’s waist.

“If he were not the ambassador of the south, I would have him thrown into the darkest cell,” Victor mutters, knowing that it is mostly the anger and pain speaking at this time, but even a king can express such emotions every now and then.

“Sleep on it, my friend,” Chris advises him as they reach the even ground again where a guard is waiting with his loyal mare that is anxiously scraping with her hooves at his sight.

“There, my girl,” Victor sighs and reaches out to pat her soft nostrils. “She is not hurt, no?”

“Just a fright, it seems,” the guard standing beside her says.

“Good girl,” Victor murmurs. “Help me up.”

Together with the help of Chris and the guard, Victor pulls himself onto the back of his horse, the pain in his leg even more prominent now as Chris pulls off his boot to take a look at it. There are always spare bandages in someone’s saddle bag for such occasions, and they manage to stop the bleeding for now, until a physician can take a look at it.

The ambassador is still inconsolable, crying his apologies from where he kneels beside Victor’s horse.

One kick to the side, Victor thinks, would be a great satisfaction.

“The earth won’t do much with your tears,” he says to him and pulls on his horse’s reins to get her moving. “Back to the palace.”

It is fortunate that there are ways and paths that lead back to the palace without leading through the city, where they would have to face the common people. It is not that Victor despises doing so, for he has often shown his face to them in the past, but a king injured during a hunt is never a good thing to display. The palace grounds open up into the wilderness at the back, and through these gates they come again, with only a handful of beggars lingering by as they ride past them. Any other day, Victor would have tossed a few coins their way, but even the poorest of the poor seem to realise that there is something wrong. They part the second the king and his group approach, staring at their sovereign that still holds his head high, even as the gates have closed behind them.

“Bring the physician to the king’s bedchamber,” Chris orders at the first guard that runs their way to help, then turns to pull Victor off his horse with the help of another.

“For goodness’ sake,” Victor groans as he leans against Chris. “I am injured, yes, but not on the brink of death. There is no reason for them to look this concerned.”

“They worry about their king, that’s all,” Chris says as they walk together towards the stairs.

“I cannot have them stare,” Victor mutters. “What a nuisance.”

And indeed, shocked courtiers and servants gather round as they make their way up to Victor’s private chambers. It is not the first time that the king has been injured, but every single time is unusual and makes them all worry.

“See to it that I am not to be disturbed, will you,” Victor says to Chris as they reach the door to his bedchamber. “Send me the physician and Anatoly, and no one else.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Chris chuckles as he puts him down on the bed with the help of a guard. With the door left open like that, it is not surprising that the next one to shoot into the room is not a person but Makkachin, her tail wagging excitedly at the sight of her master. She jumps on the bed, barking once before she stills and begins to whine in distress.

Poodles are intelligent in general, but Makkachin has always been smarter than a lot of people that Victor knows. She knows that he is hurt, and she worries.

“My order excludes Makkachin, of course,” Victor sighs and reaches out to pet her, scratching her behind the ear – her favourite spot.

“Of course it does,” Chris chuckles, leaving as the physician and the king’s servant arrive, the room otherwise too crowded.

Victor lets the man work, a physician that has been employed by the crown since the days of his father’s reign. One of the best, of course, and so, Victor can trust his word as the man declares that the injury is nothing serious and can be treated with herbs and rest. Only hunting and other activities that put pressure on the leg should be put aside for now, he advises, and Victor exchanges a look with his servant, who chuckles to himself.

“His majesty should eat something,” Anatoly says when the physician is gone and Victor’s leg tightly bandaged and resting on a cushion. “Something hearty, perhaps.”

“You know best,” Victor says as he undresses with Anatoly’s help, hissing as he moves his leg. But he must get out of the dirty clothes and at least wash himself with a cloth, if he cannot bathe in his current state.

“Forgive me, your majesty,” Anatoly murmurs as he carefully places Victor’s leg on the cushion again.

Victor sighs. “Do not apologise,” he says to him and pulls his stained shirt over his head, reaching for the sleeping shirt that Anatoly hands him. “It is not your fault that I now lie here with an injury as silly as this one.”

“From what I have heard, it could have been much worse,” Anatoly says as he takes the dirty clothes away. “Your mare was smart not to run down the slope. She might have broken her legs and buried you underneath her.”

“She is smart indeed,” Victor says and leans back against the pillows with a sigh to rest his eyes for a moment. Makkachin curls up at his side, her head on his stomach. Usually, he finds it hard to relax with others in the room, but it is different with Anatoly. Always has been. He is a loyal servant to him, the closest, too, knowing things of the king that probably only a mate would get to see and hear. Anatoly has been with him since the days of his youth, has seen him through joy and grief and heartbreak. He is one of the few that Victor sometimes opens up to, and one of the even fewer that may speak openly to the king and without hesitation. Victor values his opinion very much.

When he opens his eyes again, Anatoly is carrying a plate with cuts of meat and bread over to him, still warm and fresh from the kitchens. Makkachin lifts her head, her tongue lolling out at the sight of the meat.

“No,” Victor tells her firmly. “You have your own food. And I bet that Anatoly gave you quite a few treats today.”

Anatoly chuckles. “I am guilty, your majesty,” he says and puts the plate down on the bedside table. Only then Victor realises how hungry he is. The meat and bread taste heavenly, even if the meal is such a simple one, and the plate is empty before Anatoly finishes his task of cleaning up around the room.

“What would I do without you,” Victor sighs as Anatoly comes to take the empty plate away. “You are truly loyal to me. Taking care of me even when I am a pestilence.”

“There are worse fates, your majesty,” Anatoly assures him with a small smile. “Will that be all?”

Victor is about to say yes and send the man out as he hesitates, and suddenly he remembers what he has been missing all day. It even lets him forget the pain in his leg, and he knows what it is that he desires now, and what he must have if he wishes to sleep well tonight.

“Would you please bring him to me?”

Anatoly nods and bows. “Yes, your majesty.”

On the way out, he takes Makkachin with him, for one should truly not disturb a dog with things they are not meant to see. Although Victor is sure that no such thing will happen tonight – no, that seems out of the question now, thanks to the ambassador’s carelessness. But Victor wants Yuuri close tonight, even if they have to remain chaste for now. Such things can wait, and if the physician is right, the injury will heal in no time and leave only a scar.

Falling off a horse.

Never would Victor have thought such a thing would happen to him again.

He sighs heavily and glances at the window, realising that night has fallen already. No, the world will demand his attention again today.

At least that.

At the sound of the door opening, Victor turns his head to see Anatoly come in again.

“His Grace, Yuu—”

“Your majesty!”

Yuuri bursts into the room before Anatoly can even finish, his shift and the dressing gown on top nothing but flowing as he rushes to Victor’s bed. His eyes are wide in concern as he sinks down on the floor beside him and looks him over. “Your majesty, are you well? What happened?”

“I am,” Victor assures him as Anatoly closes the door behind him quietly, leaving them finally alone. “It is nothing but a slight injury. I fell off my horse during the hunt today and down a slope.”

“Goodness!” Yuuri breathes and closes his eyes in what appears to be sheer gratitude to the gods. “Thank the Heavens that nothing serious happened to you, your majesty.”

“Your concern for me honours you,” Victor says softly and reaches out to touch his face. “But rest assured that I am well, and that my injuries will heal in no time. My physician is certain of it.”

“Is he!” Yuuri sighs in relief and looks down at Victor’s leg where it rests on a cushion. Suddenly, he frowns, and he sits up straight as he sniffs the air, the sight of it so odd that Victor cannot help but wonder what is going on now.

“What is it?” He asks, watching as Yuuri reaches for his bandages and begins to take them off. “Yuuri, what are you doing?”

“I knew it,” Yuuri breathes as the bandages come off and expose the cleaned injury with the herbs pressed on top. “Your physician mistook the nightflower for chamomile, your majesty. Here!” He carefully takes off the gauze, revealing the herb mixture. “Chamomile and nightflower look very similar, but are fundamentally different in their effect. Where chamomile works against inflammation, nightflower is used as a sedative. In the right amount it is also used to enter stages of total euphoria.”

Victor stares first at Yuuri, then at the gauze in Yuuri’s hands that is covered in crushed leaves. The omega is a miracle, he realises, a remarkable creature with knowledge that most people certainly do not possess. “Is it dangerous?”

“Fortunately, an amount as small as this one pressed to an open wound will not have such effects,” Yuuri says. “If anything, it would have brought you rather interesting dreams tonight if one were to leave them on the open flesh for your body to absorb. But I must clean the wound and replace the nightflower with chamomile, your majesty, if the wound shall heal quickly.”

“Then we must ring for the physician,” Victor says, but Yuuri is already on his feet.

“I can do it, your majesty,” he says. “There is chamomile growing on your balcony.”

“There is?” Victor glances at the closed door that leads out to the balcony where various plants grow in pots, but Victor has never paid much attention to them. “And you do not mind?”

Yuuri blushes. “No, your majesty,” he says softly and bows his head. “I do not mind at all.”

Victor regards him thoughtfully for a long moment, how he stands there in nothing but his shift and dressing gown, in his hand a piece of bloody gauze and herbs sticking to it.

“Very well,” he says. “I am all yours.”

Yuuri curtsies quickly before he rushes outside, throwing the gauze into the silver bowl on the table on the way out. It is dark, and Victor cannot see a part of him except for his back, the white fabric of his clothing bright even in the darkness as he searches for the right plant. When he comes back, his hands are full with leaves that he drops into the smaller bowl he finds by the washing basin and starts to grind them with the back of Victor’s shaving brush. Victor watches in utter fascination as Yuuri returns to the bed and sits down on the edge of the mattress, the small bowl between them as he takes a fresh, wet cloth and begins to clean his wound.

Victor hisses lightly, but holds still as Yuuri works in deep concentration. “It looks terrible,” he says to the omega, almost apologetically. Now that he can see the wound for himself, it looks rather horrible to him.

“I have seen worse, your majesty,” Yuuri says softly as he works, gently wiping away the remains of the nightflower.

“You have?”

Yuuri nods. “My mother is versed in the art of healing. She learnt it from her mother, and I learnt it from mine. It is… some sort of tradition in our family.”

“I see.” It is all Victor can say, for he is too fascinated by the way that Yuuri works, how he takes care of him without hesitation. He is gentle, and he is careful, all the while working with such precision as he applies the crushed chamomile to the injury. None of it seems to hurt when it is Yuuri that is doing it, not even as he applies a fresh piece of gauze and bandages his calf again.

“There,” Yuuri says softly and gets up to take the things away they now no longer need. Victor can hardly spot a difference between what the physician has done and Yuuri’s work, but he can feel the difference underneath the bandages already.

He follows Yuuri with his gaze, watching him as he washes his hands in the basin that Anatoly has filled with water. To think that Yuuri, a mere omega, is hiding so many secrets and talents.

Truly extraordinary.

“Come here,” Victor says and holds out his hand.

Yuuri smiles and walks back to the bed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress as he takes Victor’s hand. “Is there anything else that I can do for you, your majesty?”

Victor laces their fingers together and brings Yuuri’s hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. Then, he sighs, their hands dropping to the mattress again.

“To think that such an injury would bind me to the bed,” Victor murmurs. “I never had injuries like these when I was younger. If I fell off a horse or worse, I would return with nothing but a scratch.” And of scratches he has had many in the past, far too many to count. “But I am no longer as young as I used to be.”

Yuuri frowns. “Your majesty…”

“It is true, indeed,” Victor says lightly and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I do hear what my courtiers say. My councillors. Or my uncle. I should be married already and have the heirs that the kingdom demands. I should have a consort. Be a shining example to everyone else in the realm in that regard, too. How tedious…”

He feels Yuuri’s hand on his arm, a gentle, tender caress that causes the king to look at him. Into deep, brown eyes that regard him with such patience, affection, and understanding.

“There is a time and place for everything, your majesty,” Yuuri says. “For what is marriage, if not a union of souls? One must choose carefully, and take so many things into consideration. What quality could honour the purpose more than patience and hesitation, especially in a king?” He bows his head and kisses Victor’s palm.

Yuuri’s words are as wise as they are kind, and with any other man, they would have been certainly true. But for Victor, the situation seems different, and many times, he sees no escape.

“You have no idea how great the pressure on me is,” Victor sighs. “How heavy the crown. It is everywhere. It lingers in every corner of this palace. Even in this bed.” He looks down at their joined hands, brushing his thumb across Yuuri’s knuckles, across his soft skin. “There is only one place on earth where it does not follow me.”

“What place is that?” Yuuri asks.

Victor smiles softly, more to himself than to anyone else. “That place is called Lyubna. Lyubna Castle has been my family’s place of refuge for generations. It is particularly beautiful there around this time of the year, when everything is blooming and of a rich, green colour. When the forest is alive and the lake so clear that you can almost see to the bottom.”

He looks at Yuuri, who is still watching him attentively, and smiles. “And now look at me. Bound to a bed to rest my leg because of a stupid hunting accident.”

“Your leg will heal,” Yuuri says and gently squeezes his hand. “And perhaps it is a silly thing to say, but what does not kill us only makes us stronger.”

“Indeed,” Victor agrees with a laugh, realising that his mother had always said the same. But some things seem to be universally known. “It is a nuisance, at best. But…” He sighs and reaches out to cup Yuuri’s cheek. “I do wish it would not keep me from having you.”

Yuuri blushes at the king’s honestly, the colour spreading from his face all the way down to his navel, hidden under both dressing gown and shift. It makes him look even more lovely in Victor’s eyes, reminding him of the many facets the omega has already shown him, from skilled in the art of healing over being good with words to the passionate and devoted lover.

He truly is an enigma.

“Your majesty…” Yuuri whispers softly and swallows thickly. “There is something that… that I would like to try, if… if you allow me.”

Victor frowns, studying the omega curiously that sits before him, in his eyes a sudden fire and determination that lures him in. “And what were you thinking of?”

Yuuri stands from the bed, rising to his feet so elegantly as if he were trying not to make a single sound. Victor watches him, not sure what Yuuri is about to do. Yuuri himself seems unsure as well, for he seems to shiver, a shiver that possibly cannot come from the cold, for all windows are closed and the fire keeps them warm.

Slowly, Yuuri takes off his dressing gown. First one sleeve, then the other, until he holds it in his arms. He puts it over the chair by the bed with greatest care, as if not to wrinkle it, and then returns to the bed in nothing but his shift.

Victor holds his breath.

The mattress dips low as Yuuri climbs on top of him, first one, then the other leg coming around the king’s waist as Yuuri settles on his lap. He is trembling, Victor can see and feel it as he touches his bare thighs, the shift pooling around Yuuri’s waist as he stills above him and holds his breath in anticipation, waiting for Victor to say something.

But no words come over the king’s lips, for he is too overwhelmed by what he sees and feels, and he cannot help but admire Yuuri’s beauty in the light of the fire behind him.

He touches Yuuri’s cheek with greatest tenderness and care, as if afraid of breaking him. And he is. He is afraid of breaking him, of hurting this incredibly precious jewel that is Yuuri. Everything that he is, from the way he looks at him to the sounds that he makes when he has him, from the sound of his laugh to the way his eyes begin to shine.

There is so much about him that Victor has yet to discover, yet to understand, but he knows that he wants him now, and will want him forevermore.

He runs his thumb across Yuuri’s lips, the other hand running up the omega’s thigh and under his shift. Yuuri shivers, a small gasp coming over his lips as the king touches him. His eyes fall shut and he leans into the touch, almost desperately so.

“Your majesty…” He breathes, the sound of it sending shivers down Victor’s spine.

“Look at me,” he whispers, for he longs to see Yuuri’s eyes, wants to see if he feels just like him, for eyes can never lie.

Yuuri does as he is told, his eyes dark with want and lust, but there is also hesitation in them, an unspoken question that lingers between them and that he has yet to ask.

“May I make you happy, your majesty?” He whispers into Victor’s palm.

For the first time in his life, Victor fears to be at a loss for words.

Never before has he been asked such a question, especially not by a lover. But never has a lover ever been like Yuuri, who looks at him with patience, whose eyes speak of want and need, the very same that Victor feels.

“You may,” he breathes, and almost no sound comes over his lips.

But for Yuuri, it is enough.

He gasps as he sinks down onto Victor, his eyes falling shut, hands pressed against the king’s chest for support. The feeling of it is overwhelming, for both of them, neither of them ever having experienced it this way. It requires great trust, and usually an incredibly deep bond between mates, to have an omega on top. But none of this crosses Victor’s mind. He grips Yuuri’s hips as he groans, his fingers digging into the omega’s flesh as they attempt to get used to the feeling and the sensations.

It seems an impossible task.

Yuuri begins to move and promptly moans, his fingers grasping Victor’s shift for dear life. He is panting, Victor realises and his eyes widen, afraid that Yuuri might be in pain. But in his face, there is no trace of it. There is relief, Victor realises, and he sees the corner of Yuuri’s mouth twitch, just barely, but definitely there as he adjusts to the feeling and to their rhythm. He rolls his hips, slowly at first, his hands on Victor’s chest for support and to relieve pressure from his leg. The slowness of it all almost drives Victor insane, the feeling of being deep inside Yuuri almost making him mad with want, and he is sure that if his body had allowed it, he would have flipped them over and submitted to his desires. But now it is Yuuri who is in control and who sets the pace, and the moment Yuuri opens his eyes and looks at him, Victor knows that he would give him the world.

What they have is fragile.

Victor knows it the moment their eyes meet, the moment he sees Yuuri’s strength and determination. He sees that Yuuri’s heart is made of glass, just like his own, and that the smallest percussions can shatter it, break it into a thousand pieces. To lie with Yuuri means to bare his heart, and never has Victor done it so willingly.

His hand comes to rest in Yuuri’s nape, and he brings him down for a kiss as Yuuri moves on top of him, and the world becomes obsolete.

* * *

Sleep both avoids and comes easily to them that night.

They have fallen asleep soon after their mating, both of them exhausted and overwhelmed by it all, and sleep a welcome rest from the exertion. But there is also the excitement and the thrill of being in each other’s arms, and neither of them stay asleep for long. It may be just enough, Victor thinks, to simply rest with Yuuri at his side. To doze off every now and then, and to wake again to share a few kisses.

It is pure bliss.

“Where did you learn that from?” Victor asks him quietly as he draws an invisible pattern on Yuuri’s arm, his skin as smooth as silk. “To let me have you like that.”

Yuuri chuckles. “I saw a drawing of it in a book, your majesty.” He looks up at Victor through his lashes. “Was it to your liking?”

Victor smirks. “Oh, very much so,” he hums and kisses Yuuri on the lips again, the act and taste of it purely addictive. He will never grow tired of it, that is certain. “To think that I deflowered you only ten days ago.”

At that, Yuuri blushes, as if the most scandalous thing in the world had been just said out loud, and he buries his face in Victor’s shoulder in embarrassment. Victor chuckles and turns his head to nuzzle his hair.

“Now, there,” he whispers. “Do you not like to think back to it?”

“I dare not to think of it, your majesty,” Yuuri whispers. “I was so terribly rude to you. I repeatedly broke the protocol.”

“Indeed, that you did,” Victor hums and runs a hand through Yuuri’s dark hair. “But that was what I found most enchanting. And I still do.”

Yuuri lifts his head, looking at him in a mixture of awe and confusion. “You find it enchanting that I disregarded the protocol and spoke out of turn?”

“Yes,” Victor says and nods. “You have no idea how refreshing that was. It still is. To see your true spirits from the very beginning and not the mask they tell you to present to me.”

Yuuri suddenly looks somber at that, as if he had just realised something. He lowers his head and kisses Victor’s shoulder blade in deepest devotion. “I only ever want you to see right into my heart, your majesty.”

Perhaps it is this declaration that changes it, that makes something inside Victor stir for the first time. But something slowly sinks in, a realisation he does not quite understand himself. He gently grasps Yuuri’s chin like the first night they met, and looks him in the eye.

“You may call me Victor,” he says quietly. “When we are alone, like this.”

Yuuri’s eyes begin to shine, the joy in them overwhelming and genuine.

“Yes, Victor,” he whispers, and Victor kisses him.

They fall asleep for good just before sunrise, and they do not wake again until Anatoly comes to look in on the king. The servant does not bat an eye as he finds the omega in the king’s bed, nude and only covered by the duvet, and orders a second breakfast to be brought to the king’s room. The whole situation is only embarrassing to Yuuri, who promptly hides under the duvet again, followed by Victor’s laughter, and the king cannot help but to dive under the duvet as well to kiss him.

With Anatoly gone again, Yuuri puts on his shift and dressing gown to protect at least some of his modesty. Then, he joins Victor again in bed, leaning against his side as they eat from the tray Anatoly has brought them. It is a selection of meat, bread, cheese, and fruit, as well as some tea and fresh milk, and Victor grins as he feeds the omega the best bits and pieces, Yuuri’s tongue teasing the tips of his fingers.

“Yuuri,” Victor says as Yuuri pops a raspberry into his mouth. “I wish to get away from the palace and spend some time at Lyubna Castle. And I want you to come with me.”

Yuuri stops chewing at once and he looks at Victor with wide eyes. He swallows, the juice of the raspberry tainting his lips a deliciously deep red, and Victor wants to kiss them. But he waits patiently.

“M-Me?” Yuuri breathes. “Am I allowed to come?”

Victor raises an eyebrow. “Your king invites you to spend time with him at Lyubna Castle and you ask if you are allowed to come?”

Yuuri blushes and buries his face in his hands for a moment. “Of course, I will come with you, Victor,” he sighs and looks up again, his eyes sparkling with delight. “I feel very honoured.”

“Oh, it is an honour,” Victor chuckles and finally kisses him, tastes the raspberries on his lips and so much more. “You will like Lyubna Castle very much, I am sure. It is such a wonderful place at this time of the year, with no one there to disturb us.”

“No one?” Yuuri asks teasingly.

“Well, there are the servants,” Victor adds. “But only those that I trust the most, like Anatoly. But other than that, we will have it entirely to ourselves.”

Yuuri smiles. “I feel honoured, mylord. So incredibly honoured.”

Just in that moment, a knock at the door interrupts them, followed by Anatoly’s voice.

“The physician, your majesty.”

“Ah, yes,” Victor sighs and shifts a bit on the mattress. “Send him in!”

Turning to Yuuri, he adds: “And you stay right here, my sweet. Right where you belong.”

Yuuri giggles and pecks Victor playfully on the lips before he continues with his breakfast, completely ignoring the door that opens and closes again with the arrival of the king’s physician.

The look on the old man’s face is priceless as he spots the omega in the king’s bed, and Victor would have laughed at the man’s expression if he had not been raised to be at least somewhat respectful to those that work and care for him.

“Good morning,” Victor greets him and watches the man bow. “A fine day, isn’t it.”

“Good morning, your majesty,” the physician says as he bows and lifts his head again, his gaze wandering to Yuuri, who chews on a piece of bread with all the carefreeness of the world. “Yes, it is a fine day, yes…”

The irritation is clear on the man’s face, but Victor could not have cared less. “I take it you are here to take a look at my leg,” he says and gestures at the bandages.

“Yes, your majesty, I am,” the physician says and approaches the bed. “Ah, I…”

He glances at Yuuri again, who looks back at him this time, and Victor raises an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“Forgive me, your majesty,” the physician says and bows, “but for an omega of delicate constitution to see an injury like this…”

“He certainly is not of delicate constitution, that I can assure you,” Victor says. “In fact, he dressed the wound last night all by himself.”

“He…” Now the physician stares at the bandages, realising that they have been changed.

“The smell of it worried him,” Victor explains, “and when he removed the gauze, he saw that the chamomile was actually nightflower. He was so kind to get the right herbs and take care of it right away.”

The physician stares at the king in shock. “Your majesty,” he breathes, “I would never make such a careless mistake! If that is true—”

“You may see for yourself, of course,” Victor says and gestures at the bowl on the table. “The nightflower leaves should be in there.”

The man is old, and Victor has sure that he has never seen the physician walk so quickly like he does now, over to the table to see for himself. For a moment, the man is eerily quiet, and he can only hear the rustling of the sheets as Yuuri shifts beside him and leans against him. His body is warm and incredibly comforting, especially on a cold morning like this.

“By the Heavens,” the physician whispers and slowly puts the bowl down again. He turns around and bows deeper than ever before, deeper than a man of his age should be able to. “Your majesty, I take full responsibility for this careless mistake!”

“Please, do stand up straight,” Victor says calmly, his arm instinctively coming around Yuuri’s waist. “It was a mistake, nothing more, nothing less. I was told that this amount of nightflower would have given me rather peculiar dreams at best, so there has been no harm done.”

“Indeed, indeed,” the physician agrees, looking at Yuuri again, who drinks from the cup of milk with all the patience in the world. “How fortunate of him to know that! How remarkable, indeed!”

“Isn’t he just,” Victor says with a sigh. “Now, you said you wanted to look at the injury?”

The physician finally does, his old hands shaking as he removes the bandages and finally the gauze with the correct herbs. Although the wound is still fresh, the angry red colour has already lessened drastically. “It looks good, your majesty,” the physician says. “Yes, the chamomile truly worked its wonders. Another gauze with it should support the healing process further.”

“Good,” Victor says. “There is chamomile growing right on my balcony, right?”

Yuuri nods and leans his head against Victor’s arm, watching quietly as the physician works. This time, there are no mistaken herbs finding their way into the procedure, the smell of the chamomile leaves intense in the air as they are applied to the wound and secured with the gauze and bandages.

“I was thinking about going to Lyubna Castle for a while,” Victor tells the physician. “To fully recover from this. You do recommend it, don’t you?”

“Of course, of course!” The physician nods. “A change of scenery and fresh air will benefit your health greatly, your majesty.”

“Wonderful,” Victor says and looks at Yuuri. “Then my dear uncle won’t have a reason to complain.”

Looking back at the physician, he says. “That will be all, then. Ah, and please do be so kind and send Anatoly in. The sooner he starts packing, the better.”

The physician bows deeply before he walks out of the room, but not without glancing over his shoulder at the king again, who has pulled the omega of his choice into an embrace and kisses him deeply and fiercely.

“So,” Victor hums as the door has fallen shut again and cups Yuuri's cheek. “Lyubna?”

Yuuri smiles and turns his head to kiss Victor's palm. “Lyubna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuuri spend time away from the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!  
> This chapter was supposed to contain something else, but then it became so long that I had to make a cut somewhere. So this chapter is some sort of a preparation for chapter 4.   
> Thank you so much for all your kind comments! <3

The king and his entourage leave the palace of Petersburg the very next day.

Of course, the whims and wishes of the king never stay a secret for long, and the court knows within a few hours that his majesty has decided to spend some time away at Lyubna Castle. That in itself is not extraordinary news, for it is well-known that the king enjoys to spend his time there. But that someone will accompany him there, that is news indeed.

Even more so is the fact that it is the omega that has warmed the king’s bed for almost two weeks now.

The king seems to make a great secret of him, for only a small handful of people have seen the omega in question now. Among them are the servants, of course, and the vast majority of them are so loyal to the king that they would never talk about anything in detail. Then, there is the king’s physician, but the man is old and no one likes to listen to old people’s tales. And there is the king’s closest friend, Lord Giacometti, but no one is sure if said scoundrel has seen the omega already. Most people doubt it, for Lord Giacometti is far too busy with parading his own mate around.

They must be patient.

Courtiers are naturally curious, but not even as the king and his latest obsession climb into a carriage and drive off do they get to see him. Victor hides him well, even though with little effort, having Yuuri walk with Anatoly to the carriages. To a servant most people do not pay attention, and so, Yuuri is safe from prying eyes.

He looks stunning, Victor thinks, in the travel wardrobe that he has had made for him. At this time of the year, the air is still cold and chilly, especially in the mornings. The soft fur coat will keep Yuuri warm, just like the cap, the gloves, and the boots he has ordered to be made for him. But the most prominent piece of Yuuri’s clothing is the fur stole he wears around his neck. He looks truly royal in Victor’s eyes, and even holds himself like high nobility as he climbs into the carriage and sits beside Victor, who immediately reaches for his hands and kisses them.

“Look at how breathtaking you are,” he sighs. “No queen could possibly compare to you. Are you warm? I know it is so terribly cold this morning.”

“I am warm, Mylord,” Yuuri assures him, his cheeks red due to both the cold and Victor’s affection.

“Are you looking forward to Lyubna?” Victor asks as the servants shut the carriage door, ready for departure.

Yuuri nods. “Yes, your majesty. I cannot wait to see the place that brings you so much happiness.”

“You will like it, too, I am sure of it,” Victor says and leans back, pulling Yuuri with him. “I have spent many happy hours there, far away from the crown. Where I can simply be myself, and no one else.”

“That sounds wonderful, Mylord,” Yuuri hums and kisses him on the lips.

The king’s entourage consists of several carriages. The one the king drives in is the largest and most comfortable one, of course, his insignia ornamenting the doors and declaring who he is to the world. Right behind him is a slightly smaller but no less comfortable carriage, for the king’s closest servant and his dog. Makkachin is obviously coming with them, the dog the most loyal of companions to his majesty. Usually, Makkachin rides in the king’s carriage, but Victor had found it best to let Anatoly take care of her for now, otherwise the carriage might be too crowded. In smaller carriages, the rest of the servants travel, followed by the king’s guard that rides at the front and at the very end of the train. It is a large number of people that travels with the king, and that is only the small delegation.

It is as private as it can get.

Inside their carriage, however, they have a little sanctuary for themselves, and Victor intends to make good use of it. Of course, he would never be as bold as to have Yuuri right here in a moving vehicle – although the idea of it is tempting – but he can make good use of the time they have together. They have only ever spent time together in his bedchamber, exploring each other’s bodies and getting to know each other. And oh, it is highly addictive.

But even having Yuuri at his side fully clothed is an experience that Victor would not want to miss for anything in the world. He looks adorable with his cheeks reddened from the cold, and he kisses them constantly, so much that Yuuri squeals with laughter and begs him to stop.

“But Yuuri,” Victor hums against his neck. “I only wish to get to know you better. And you look just so irresistible.”

Yuuri giggles and half buries his face in the fur of his coat. “Where I come from, people get to know each other better by talking.”

Victor sighs dramatically and puts an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “That is probably not the worst way of looking at it. And indeed, I want to learn everything about you. Say, what is your favourite food?”

Yuuri blinked, the question surprising him apparently.

He shifts on the cushion, leaning further into Victor’s warm embrace. “Katsudon,” he says eventually. “My favourite food is Katsudon.”

“I have never heard of it,” Victor admits. “What is it?”

“It is pork cutlet on rice,” Yuuri explains. “My mother always makes it for me. It is the perfect meal when the weather is like today’s.”

Victor hums thoughtfully. “I wonder if the cook could make it for us tonight.”

Before Yuuri can reply, Victor leans forward and looks out of the window, waving one of the guards over to ask him just that. The guard does not seem surprised in the least that the king asks him to speak to the cook, and as he returns a few minutes later, tonight’s dinner is set in stone.

“Of course it won’t be like your mother made it,” Victor says, “but let us hope for the best, shall we?”

Yuuri nods and leans his head against Victor’s shoulder. “I am sure it will be delicious. But can they prepare it so quickly? Do they have all the ingredients?”

“There is a fully stocked kitchen at Lyubna, my sweet,” Victor reminds him and kisses his brow. “How fortunate that it is only a day’s ride away from Petersburg. Close enough for a short travel but far away enough to be left in peace.”

“A true place of refuge, then,” Yuuri says. “It is important to have such a place.”

“Do you have one, too?” Victor asks.

For a moment, Yuuri is quiet. “Well,” he begins, “not like Lyubna, but… whenever I feel that I need some time away from home, I visit my godmother. She lives not too far from us. And sometimes, we take the carriage to go to the beach of Hasetsu together. We watch the birds and the ships in the distance. I love it there.”

The way Yuuri speaks about it tells Victor that it must be a wonderful place, and it tells him how very dear his godmother must be to Yuuri. Victor’s own godparents are no longer alive, the only people related to him by blood his aunt Lilia and consequently, his cousin Yuri.

He has not seen either of them for quite some time.

“Sadly, there is no beach, no ocean at Lyubna,” Victor says, “but the lake is not to be scoffed at. I always take Makkachin down there.”

“I am looking forward to it,” Yuuri hums and closes his eyes, the night having been rather short for both of them. They are both to blame for it, Victor thinks fondly as he plays with Yuuri’s hair.

It is incredibly hard to not lose oneself to passion with the other so close by.

For a while, Yuuri dozes off, and Victor watches the countryside pass by. His kingdom is old, and before him have been many kings and queens. Each of them has governed the realm according to what their conscience has told him – at least, that is what Victor has been taught by his teachers during his childhood. The perusal of the royal library’s historical accounts, however, had soon led Victor to doubt the words of his teachers, finding the assumption that a king always only ever followed their conscience rather ridiculous. A king may be a monarch, but a king is also always human. He is not an exception to that, and neither have been his father, his grandfather, nor all the others that came before him. They all have had their very personal motives that have led their actions, and some of them have been plainly selfish.

Victor can allow himself to be a little bit selfish, too.

The kingdom won’t fall apart because he wishes to spend some time with Yuuri alone, away from the palace and the prying eyes of the courtiers. He is not abandoning his kingdom and his people, not like his great-grandfather who had eventually abdicated and left the throne to his brother. A king has a responsibility, a God-given responsibility, even. Victor has spoken the same vow of the kings and queens that came before him, has promised to devote his life to the realm and to the people living in it. There is little of him that does not belong to the crown, but he remembers the words of his father well.

_“Do not let the crown possess your heart.”_

Victor had been only a boy back then, barely twelve years of age, and he had not understood what his father had meant by that. Now, many years later, the meaning behind his father’s words is clearer than ever.

Perhaps that is why his father never arranged a marriage for him, regardless of how insistent his mother had been.

Victor sighs and rests his jaw on his palm as he looks out of the window, watches the small villages in the distance. Those people, he thinks, are the true people of the kingdom. His courtiers and councillors often forget that, and Victor forgets it often enough, too. Their lives, he thinks, might be easier than his own.

But Victor knows he should not complain.

His duty is the most divine of them all, and he should be grateful for it.

They take a break at a small inn, the innkeeper’s family almost fainting at the sight of the king’s carriage. A shaking little girl serves them fresh bread and milk, and Yuuri pulls out a silver coin from somewhere under his coat and places it in her palm. Her eyes begin to shine at the sight of the money, and she runs off to her parents to show what she has received.

“How kind of you,” Victor hums and brings Yuuri’s hand to his lips. “She will never forget the day you showed her such kindness.”

Yuuri blushes. “What is my gesture compared to meeting you, your majesty?” He asks softly. “These people will always remember the day the king came to rest at their inn. I am not of any importance and will not be remembered.”

Victor frowns and grasps Yuuri’s hand firmly. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he says. “How could you ever not be remembered, my sweet?” He kisses his knuckles. “Everyone will remember you for your kindness and for your gracious heart.”

Yuuri averts his gaze bashfully, the colour of his cheeks a rosy red again as he blushes at the king’s words.

It is easy to make Yuuri blush, Victor thinks, and definitely one of his new favourite pastimes.

They leave the inn soon after, refreshed and ready for the rest of their journey. Victor has a lot of questions for Yuuri, asking him for his favourites of all possible sorts. Yuuri’s favourite colour, he learns, is a rich midnight blue, but he also likes green. His favourite pastime is dancing, and that alone causes Victor to think of many interesting things. Yuuri also plays the shamisen, a traditional string instrument that belongs to Hasetsu like the hot springs. Victor wonders if they can have one brought to Lyubna so that Yuuri can play for him.

Just as expected, Yuuri loves dogs, but was never allowed to have one. “My grandmother did not like dogs,” he explains to Victor, “and after she died, I did not dare to ask for one. I did not want to appear tactless.”

Victor decides then that they must spend more time with Makkachin, who has taken such a liking to Yuuri already, too.

“There it is,” Victor says as Lyubna Castle comes into view. “What do you think of it?”

Yuuri leans forward to look out of the window, gasping as the forest parts and the castle appears before them in the distance. It has a certain magic to it, Victor thinks, how it stays revealed for long and then emerges almost gracefully from its hiding place. Although it is small, much smaller than the palace in Petersburg, it appears almost majestic in the light of the evening sun, bathing the castle and the surrounding land in a rich, golden light.

“How marvellous it is!” Yuuri breathes and looks back at Victor, his eyes sparkling with delight. It has quickly become Victor’s favourite sight. To see Yuuri’s eyes fill with joy and wonder – that must be what happiness is.

Even more happiness will come, Victor is sure, when he can show Yuuri all of Lyubna.

“Not long now, my sweet,” Victor says and wraps an arm around Yuuri’s middle as they look out of the window together and watch the castle come closer.

Lyubna, of course, has a caretaker to keep an eye on things while the king is gone. Said caretaker now greets them personally as the carriage of the king drives into the courtyard, bowing low as the carriage door opens. From the corner of his eye, he watches as king jumps out of the vehicle with a spring in his step, and then turns to lift a young man out of the carriage an into his arms.

So the rumours are true, the caretaker realises as the king puts the omega onto his feet.

“Artemyev!” The king says warmly as he approaches the caretaker, an arm still around the omega’s waist. “How good to see you. I hope you are well?”

The caretaker bows his head again. “I am, your majesty. How kind of you to be concerned about me.”

“How could I not?” The king asks. “For you take care of what is very dear to me. May I introduce you to His Grace, Yuuri of the house Katsuki?”

“Your Grace,” Artemyev says and kisses the hand that Yuuri holds out to him. “Welcome to Lyubna.”

“Indeed, welcome to Lyubna.” Victor sighs in contentment and looks around in the courtyard. “The place looks impeccable from the outside. I take it that all rooms have been prepared?”

“Yes, your majesty, according to your wishes,” Artemyev confirms. “We have prepared both of the large bedrooms for you and his Grace. The kitchens have been fully stocked as well, and we have employed a new stable boy to help with the horses.”

“Good.” Victor nods and gives Yuuri’s hip a gentle squeeze. “We shall see to everything else later. Now I believe we should go inside before we freeze to death.”

The caretaker steps out of the way and lets the king and the omega pass.

It is already much warmer in the entrance hall of Lyubna Castle, with a fire burning in the large fireplace that sits between the two large staircases. Yuuri lets out a sigh of the relief at the sight, instinctively walking towards it as Makkachin shoots past them with a happy bark and immediately makes herself at home.

“It seems like she missed Lyubna just as much as I did,” Victor laughs as Makkachin runs next door to the sitting room, where an even larger fire awaits her. “Ah, it feels good to be back. What do you think of it, Yuuri?”

“It is an impressive place,” Yuuri says as he looks around in the entrance hall. “So very different from the palace.”

“Indeed,” Victor agrees and lets his eyes wander over the heavy, wooden beams above them. “Come, my sweet. Upstairs there is much more to see.”

Yuuri takes his arm and they walk upstairs, the stairs creaking under their feet and telling of the old age of the castle. But it is well taken care of, that much is clear, with no grain of dust to come their way as Victor leads Yuuri to the bedroom. Everything in it is made of heavy, dark wood, even the panelled walls. But the furs on the floor and on the bed as well as the wall hangings turn the room into what it is meant to be – a place of refuge, a warm sanctuary where no one will disturb them.

“What do you think?” Victor asks.

Yuuri turns around to him with a smile on his face. “Oh, I like it so!” He says happily and earns a kiss from the king in return. “But why two bedrooms? The caretaker spoke of two bedrooms.”

“Well,” Victor says and takes Yuuri’s hands, “because I thought that perhaps, you would grow tired of me at some point and wish for some time on your own.”

Yuuri blushes. “That is very considerate of you, Mylord. But I am sure I won’t need it. How could I ever grow tired of being with you?”

“Oh, my sweet,” Victor sighs and pulls Yuuri in for a tender kiss. “You have truly mastered the art of flattery. Do you even know what your words do to me? How weak they make me? How they compel me to gather all of my strength to not lose control?”

Yuuri chuckles and pecks him back on the lips. “You do not have to control yourself when you are with me, Mylord.”

“Ah, I fear that I must!” Victor shakes his head with another sigh. “Artemyev surely awaits me already. We must discuss a few things regarding the estate. I shall call for the maid and have her draw you a bath before dinner. I cannot let you catch a cold in this weather.”

“Yes, Mylord,” Yuuri says, still holding the king’s hands. “Will you not join me?”

Victor feels himself shiver at the thought of it, and oh, it is very much tempting. But he pulls himself together, remembering to have at least some sense of decorum. “Believe me, my sweet. I would happily join you if Artemyev were not waiting for me.” He cups Yuuri’s cheeks and kisses his forehead. “Come down to the dining room when you are done, yes?”

“Yes, Victor,” Yuuri whispers and then leans in to steal another kiss from the king’s lips, quick and passionate, and it leaves Victor hungry for more – for so much more.

But for now, they have to part.

Victor leaves the omega only very reluctantly, feeling instant regret the moment he walks down the stairs to meet with the caretaker. He can hear the laughter of the servants from the kitchens, where Makkachin has doubtlessly announced her arrival and is now begging for treats. No such thing would ever happen at the palace, where everyone and everything is stiff and even Makkachin is being treated like a princess. Not that she would not deserve it.

But at the palace, everything is a tad too much.

Too strict, too serious, too much of everything.

At Lyubna, people remember that behind the crown, there is also a man.

A man that values a cup of the local beer while having a chat with the castle’s caretaker, a man that is easy to talk to if you only try.

Together, they take a quick walk around the castle, Artemyev pointing out to the king what has been fixed and what needs further attention. There is always something to do at a place like Lyubna, a place that seems to be as old as the kingdom itself, but despite its age, it is in good condition. It still feels like home, Victor thinks, and he remembers the days of his childhood, with long summers spent on the Lyubna estate, his companions the children of the servants, his aunt Lilia and his uncle Yakov looking after him.

His parents had rarely come here, especially his mother. If a parent had come to see him, then it had been his father, and even then, the visits had been rather short. Lilia had never approved of it.

It has been too long, Victor thinks, since he has last spoken to his aunt.

He will have to do so once they go back to Petersburg.

The stables are the final stop on the round, the new stable boy almost tripping over his feet at the sight of the king. Victor gives the boy a silver coin for his good work and asks him to take particularly good care of his loyal mare, who neighs at her master the moment she spots him.

“You are happy to be here, right, my girl?” Victor hums and feeds her an apple. “Yes. This is where we can breathe, you and I.”

He is sure that if she were able to talk, she would reply, for she presses her nose into his hand affectionately.

With his horse in the very best of hands and a stable boy determined to become the best of them all, Victor returns to the castle and finally takes off his coat, heading to the dining hall next to the sitting room. His stomach is grumbling, looking forward to the katsudon that the cook is supposed to make. Yuuri is not there yet, but Makkachin is, resting by the fire. Upon spotting Victor, she lifts her head and wags her tail as she gets up and walks over to him, eager for pats and cuddles.

“There, my girl,” Victor hums and scratches her behind the ear, her favourite spot. “We’ll have a wonderful time here at Lyubna.”

Just then, the door behind him is slowly opened and Victor turns his head. Yuuri comes in, dressed in a warm, long gown that Victor had ordered for him before their departure, with his cheeks still rosy from the bath.

Makkachin barks, escaping from Victor’s grasp to greet him, and Victor rises to his feet.

“There you are, my sweet.” He holds out his hands and Yuuri takes them almost hesitantly as Victor leans in to kiss him. “Did you enjoy your bath?”

“I did,” Yuuri replies. “Thank you for this gown.”

“It does keep you warm, I hope,” the king says and steps back to take a long, good look at it, finding it very flattering to Yuuri’s figure. “Are you hungry?”

The servants have begun to bring them dinner just then, and Victor leads Yuuri to the table where two perfectly arranged bowls of what apparently is katsudon are waiting for them. Victor watches Yuuri closely as they sit down, and almost instantly, he sees the sparkle in Yuuri’s eyes at the sight of the meal. It already smells heavenly, and Victor cannot wait to try it.

“You must tell me if it is satisfactory,” he says to Yuuri, who then takes a hesitant first bite of the pork. He swallows and looks up at Victor.

“It is very good.”

“Just as I expected,” Victor says and nods at the servant to his left who then proceeds to pour them each a glass of wine. Then, he reaches across the table and takes Yuuri’s hand. “Let us celebrate tonight with this good meal and the wine,” he says, gently intertwining their fingers, “now that we are finally undisturbed and left alone by the world.” The words carry so much meaning, meaning that the omega understands at once, and Victor leans closer to whisper into his ear. “I cannot wait to have you tonight.”

Yuuri shivers and suddenly, he withdraws his hand from Victor’s, clasping his hands on his lap instead and looking down at the food before them, looking anywhere but at Victor, who no longer understands what is going on.

“My sweet?” He reaches out to touch Yuuri’s arm instead, if he will not give him his hand. “Is everything alright? What is it?”

Yuuri throws a cautious glance at the servants nearby, all of them waiting in respectful distance for any orders. He is not comfortable speaking with them present, Victor realises, and he looks up.

“Leave us.”

The servants bow and leave the room at once, leaving the carafes and plates they have been holding on a nearby table. Only as the door falls shut behind them, Victor moves his chair closer to Yuuri’s and takes his hand again, bringing it to his lips.

“Did I say something wrong?” Victor asks as he presses a kiss to Yuuri’s knuckles. “What is it, my sweet?”

Yuuri shivers still, his eyes finally meeting Victor’s again after what has felt like eternity to the king. Yuuri looks pained, he realises, ashamed even, and his voice is barely more than a whisper.

“I cannot lie with you tonight, Mylord.”

Victor looks at him in confusion, not understanding with Yuuri is shivering so before him, avoiding to look him in the eye. But before he can fully comprehend what Yuuri has said, the omega has averted his gaze again.

“Are you ill, my sweet?” Victor asks, now genuinely concerned, not letting go of Yuuri’s hand for even a second. He moves even closer to him, touching his cheek to see for his temperature. Perhaps that is why he shivers.

Yuuri shakes his head, barely so. “I’m not ill, Mylord. I’m…” He takes a breath, whispering the words only. “I’m bleeding.”

Victor stares at him for a painfully long moment before the penny finally drops.

“I’m sorry, Mylord.”

Those words finally bring Victor back to his senses, and he gently grasps Yuuri’s chin.

“But whatever for?” He asks him softly and shakes his head. “Yuuri, if anyone has to apologise, it is me. I did not even think of it, even though I should have. There is absolutely nothing you should apologise for. Is there anything you need? Is there anything I can do?”

Yuuri seems terribly embarrassed by it all, shaking his head far too vehemently. “I should sleep in the other bedchamber tonight, Mylord,” he says, and Victor immediately shakes his head.

“Nonsense,” Victor says firmly. “You will sleep right at my side, where you belong. Did you think I would send you out because of that? Oh, my sweet.” He gently turns Yuuri’s face to kiss him on the lips, with all the reassurance in the world.

Yuuri’s cheeks are still of a deep as the king pulls away again, the embarrassment still very much in him, but he seems a lot calmer than just a few moments ago. The situation is probably as new to him as it is to Victor, who realises now that he knows embarrassingly little of such things. He, who always likes to be seen as the learned king, as the scholar, knows almost nothing about what is the essence and reason of life.

It is easy to disregard such things. Especially if one is not personally concerned by them.

“Come, let us eat,” Victor suggests and lets go of Yuuri’s chin again. “And then, we shall go to bed.”

“Yes, Mylord,” Yuuri says with a shy nod.

“Don’t you remember what I told you?” Victor squeezes his hand. “Call me Victor. I love it so when you do.”

“Forgive me,” Yuuri says with a small smile now, and his spirits seem to finally return. “I don’t know why I keep forgetting. But your name is so very dear to me. Saying it too often… I fear it would lose its importance. But your name I always carry with me, Victor.” At that, Yuuri touches his chest, right above his heart.

* * *

Dinner is a short affair after that.

Anatoly has prepared the bed for them in the meantime and, at the discreet request of the king, has left a steaming cup of raspberry tea on the table for Yuuri to drink. It supposedly helps against stomach ache, and Yuuri drinks it carefully as he sits on the edge of the mattress. He wears a long nightgown and something else underneath, but Victor is too polite to ask him about it. The curtains have been drawn, and the fire is warming them, just like the soft furs that cover the bed.

Perhaps, Victor thinks in the back of his mind, it is good that they must remain chaste tonight. Otherwise, they would not be able to take it all in, and would forget to appreciate the peace and quiet that Lyubna offers them.

For they are finally alone. Truly alone. The palace is far away, and so is the crown.

Yuuri is all his.

Victor waits until he has finished the tea and set the cup aside before he pulls him against his chest and holds him close, a hand on his belly. “Is there anything else that you need, my sweet?” He whispers into his ear. “Anything at all?”

“No,” Yuuri hums and leans into the embrace with a sigh. “I have everything I need and so much more.”

Victor chuckles into Yuuri’s neck and kisses him there, earning a soft purr from Yuuri in return. Then, they slip under the covers, furs on top to keep them warm in what is a cold and windy night. Yuuri lies beside him, his head on the pillow and his hand on Victor’s chest, tracing an invisible pattern there that only the omega seems to understand.

“What are you thinking?” Victor asks him quietly.

Yuuri looks up. “Does it really not bother you that I am indisposed tonight?” He asks softly. “And also for the nights to come?”

Victor shakes his head. “It does not bother me at all. What is it but a natural thing that deserves to be respected? But…” He sighs and feels embarrassed himself now. “I must admit that my knowledge of it is rather limited.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow and looks at him critically. “That is hardly your fault.”

“I feel that it is, for I should know what those that bear children go through,” Victor insists. “Not just as a king, but as a man in general. How can I care for you if I do not know anything at all?”

Yuuri blushes deeply at that, and it is even visible in the light of the fire. “You care for me by showing your concern,” he says quietly. “That is more than most of us dare to hope for.”

There is more in Yuuri’s words than what he intends to say, but Victor knows this is neither the right time nor the right place to speak about the lives and struggles of the omegas in his realm. It is also not Yuuri’s duty, he thinks, to be the one to educate him about issues he should already know about.

“How could I not be concerned about you,” Victor says and traces Yuuri’s cheekbone with his fingertips. “And how could I not care for you, my sweet? After I have seen how much you care for me, even took care of my wounds.”

Yuuri leans further into the king’s touch. “I hope your leg will be fully healed soon,” he whispers. “And that you will never be in pain again because of it.”

“I fear I will be forced to walk slower for some time,” Victor sighs. “I must admit that it did hurt today, and itch, very much so. But it is a price that I am very much willing to pay.”

“May I take a look at it?” Yuuri asks, glancing down at the duvet that covers them both.

“Of course.” Victor slowly sits up and pushes the duvet back, watching as Yuuri kneels beside him and pulls his leg onto his lap to remove the bandages. A sigh of relief comes over Victor’s lips as he feels the cool air on the skin that has been covered all day, and as he looks down, he sees that the wound has already closed, but still looks rather gruesome.

“It is healing very nicely,” Yuuri says, however, and Victor realises once more that Yuuri knows much better than he does. “But I can imagine that it hurts and itches under these thick bandages, especially when moving. A special ointment would help here.”

“There is a monastery nearby,” Victor says. “They have a rather large herb garden. Perhaps they might be able to…?”

“Yes,” Yuuri nods and gets out of bed for a moment, returning then with a wet cloth from the washing bowl. It is cold, and Victor sighs in relief as Yuuri carefully puts it over the injury and the urge to scratch finally disappears.

“But until then, this will help, too,” Yuuri smiles, and Victor wants to kiss him.

He does so the moment Yuuri lies down beside him again, capturing the omega’s lips in a long, tender kiss that would have surely developed into more, had they both not been forced to remain chaste. But it does not take anything away, and leaves nothing to miss. For Yuuri is warm and soft beside him, and so are his lips. Lips that part for him, allowing Victor to explore his mouth, tongues finding each other in a sensual dance.

The wind becomes stronger, but neither of them hear it as they lose themselves in each other’s embrace, and leave the world with no significance.

* * *

The morning air is crisp and cold, and usually, it awakens any person’s spirits like nothing else.

Sadly, Yuuri wakes with stomach ache, and finds himself unable to leave the bed. Victor feels incredibly hopeless, calling for both Anatoly and the maid as Yuuri presses a cushion against his middle and lets out a pained groan. Fortunately, they are both far more helpful than the king, who can only stand aside and watch – and step outside for a moment as the maid helps Yuuri to bathe and change.

After breakfast, of which Yuuri eats only little, they retreat to bed again, and Yuuri sleeps. It is normal, Anatoly tells him quietly, and assures Victor that it is just the same with his own wife.

Victor often forgets that Anatoly is a married man and even has about eight children of his own.

Yuuri apologises to Victor several times for the inconvenience – but Victor is quick to reassure him that there is nothing to apologise for, and that some quiet days indoors are refreshing, too. After all, it is also raining and storming heavily, and they would have been forced to remain indoors either way. Even if Victor would have very much liked to spend the day in a different manner.

The next day starts much brighter, in both the literal and metaphorical sense. The sun is shining and promises a beautiful day, and Yuuri is feeling much better, and ready to explore the outdoors. He is once again wrapped in the heavy fur coat that Victor had made for him, looking royal in every sense as he walks with his head high, and his arm linked with the king’s.

“What do you think of my Lyubna, my sweet?” Victor asks as they walk along the shore of the lake, the castle in beautiful view where they stand, right before them. “Isn’t it magnificent?”

“It is,” Yuuri agrees with a nod. “A place with such rich history, embedded between the forest and the lake. I can see why it is your favourite place, Mylord.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Victor hums and gently kisses his temple as they continue walking. They are taking it slow, as to not put too much pressure on Victor’s leg and to not exhaust Yuuri too much. But it gives them time to take everything in, for Yuuri to see it all for the first time and for Victor to realise once more why Lyubna means so much to him.

Of course, they are not entirely alone. There are guards following them with a certain distance, making themselves invisible whenever Victor or Yuuri turn their head, giving them the illusion of complete privacy. But danger can await them anywhere, and so, a king is never truly alone. And neither are those that are with him. The guards don’t bother Victor, for he only has eyes for Yuuri anyway, whose eyes shine at every beautiful thing he spots.

“Have you been here very often as a child, Mylord?” He asks. “Is that why you are so fond of it?”

“You are not only beautiful, but also very smart,” Victor praises him and pats his arm. “I have spent many joyful summers here. My aunt and uncle always came with me and had an eye on me, and I could play with the children of the servants. Of course, my teachers always came with us, even if I wanted a break. But my uncle was very strict, and my aunt even stricter. I had to spent every morning in the library, reading up on history and learning the names of generals by heart before I was allowed to go out and roam the gardens.”

“That sounds very strict indeed,” Yuuri says. “I had lessons, too, but my parents were never as strict as your aunt and uncle.” He pauses, then looks up at Victor, as if he had just realised something. “But what about your mother and father? Did the king and queen not come with you?”

Victor gives him a weak smile. “My father, the king, sometimes came to see me. My mother not so much. I am sure she had her reasons,” he adds quietly. What reasons those were, Victor cannot actually tell. He prefers not to think too much about it, knowing perfectly well that it would not lead to anything. His mother and father have long left this world, and nothing that lies in the past is of importance now.

“Parents are a complicated matter for everyone, I think,” Yuuri says softly, pulling the king out of his thoughts once more. “They love us and only want the best for us. Only their means of showing it is sometimes beyond our comprehension.” He tilts his head to the side, looking up at Victor through his lashes. “I am sure that your mother and father loved you very much, Mylord.”

Victor laughs.

It is a joyless, quiet laugh that comes over his lips, involuntary and unexpected. He stops walking and so does Yuuri, the omega looking at Victor with wide eyes as the king laughs.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor sighs, still chuckling as he shakes his head. “You are too kind when it concerns my mother and father. But believe me, they do not deserve your kindness.”

He continues walking, but Yuuri stays where he is, withdrawing his arm from Victor’s. “Yet I believe they do,” he says.

Victor turns around, watching as Yuuri’s entire posture seems to change within the blink of an eye. He seems to transform, the usual demeanour of an omega of his station changing completely as he suddenly appears slightly taller, and the expression on his face clearly becomes one of disagreement.

“And how would you know,” Victor asks him calmly, clasping his hands behind his back. “How would you know better than I, who lived with them?”

Yuuri keeps his head high, almost defiantly. Had he been someone else, Victor would have seen the gesture as blatant disrespect for him and the crown. However, it is Yuuri, and Victor wants to know what the omega has to say. Even if he might not like it.

“I would never claim to know better, Mylord,” he says and clasps his hands above his stomach, elegantly so, his posture entirely one of nobility. “But whether we like it or not, our parents are the reason for who we become, may they be farmers, or merchants, or monarchs. Even if our parents are distant or even cold at times, we always remain their children, their living images. From them we inherit our strengths and weaknesses in character, and we grow with the challenges that they impose on us. And I firmly believe that you would not be the gentle, kind, and gracious king you are known and loved as today if it were not for them.”

Yuuri says it all with such determination, certainty, and passion, that Victor is very much inclined to take him into his arms and kiss him. For he is naïve, terribly so, and far too good for this world. How wonderful Yuuri’s childhood must have been to have such faith in humankind! To be so certain that every parent only ever wants the best for their child, even a king, even a queen.

Victor looks away, back at the castle that awaits them in the distance. Summers spent at Lyubna had not only been an escape from Petersburg, but also from his parents. From the high expectations of his father and the constant scolding of his mother.

“It is very noble of you to think of my parents that way,” he says, his gaze wandering over Lyubna’s exterior, over the old stones that have held it together for so many years. “But I must destroy your hopes, Yuuri. My mother and father were never the loving parents you think they have been. Not even in private did they ever show the kind of love a parent should have for their child, regardless of rank or status. They only ever saw the prince in me. The one who would one day inherit the throne. I was never good enough for them, neither for my father, nor for my mother. Especially not for my mother.” He huffs, shaking his head at the memory of the late queen. “She would be ashamed if she could see me now, and my father, too. A king with no heir and an approaching revolt on the doorstep. But what they think no longer matters now, for they are dead and buried, and I no longer have to live up to standards that are impossible to reach, and it is good that way.”

He looks at Yuuri, who watches him with such patience and tenderness in his eyes that it sends shivers down Victor’s spine. Truly, he has expected to see many things in the omega’s face – shock, perhaps, or even disappointment after learning that the once beloved king and queen had not been as the common people had thought them to be. It would not be surprising.

Instead, Yuuri comes closer, his footsteps silent on the grass as he approaches the king and gently, very carefully, places his gloved hand on Victor’s arm.

“Then why are you crying, Mylord?”

His voice is quiet, barely audible, but it shakes Victor to the core.

Later that day, it would be whispered among the servants of Lyubna Castle that the king had been standing at the shore of the lake with his lover for a very long time, in an embrace so tight that it had seemed as if they had become one.

* * *

“Have you ever sat on the back of a horse?”

It is the first thing Victor asks Yuuri over breakfast the following day. They have gone to bed early the night before, this time Victor being the one to bury his face in Yuuri’s shoulder instead of the other way round. At first, it had felt like defeat, but the moment Yuuri had put his arms around him and had held him, all the tension had fallen from the king, had brought him back to his senses.

In Yuuri’s arms, he knows no danger and no fear. Only peace, quiet, and acceptance.

Yuuri looks up from his tea, his cheeks still deliciously flushed from the warmth of the bed they have just left, in his eyes surprise and curiosity.

“I have,” he replies, much to Victor’s surprise, as horseback riding is usually deemed unsuitable for omegas. “My godmother taught me.”

“Perfect,” Victor says, having now even more respect to the woman despite not knowing her personally. “I intend to take you out on a ride today. I would like to show you the lands and stop by the monastery on the other side of the valley. If you are feeling up to it, that is.”

“Of course I am feeling up to it,” Yuuri says with a happy smile and sets down his tea cup to get up from his chair and settle on Victor’s lap instead. Even more barriers between them seem to have disappeared overnight, and Yuuri has become even more at ease in his presence. All of it thrills Victor immensely, and he immediately wraps an arm around his lover’s waist to hold him close and secure.

“But how about you?” Yuuri asks him and wraps his arms around Victor’s neck. “How are you feeling this morning, Mylord?”

Victor sighs and rests his forehead against Yuuri’s clavicle, breathing in the omega’s scent. Nothing has ever been sweeter, more comforting than the scent of his Yuuri, paired with the sound of his heartbeat and the feeling of Yuuri’s arms around him.

“I am feeling wonderful, my sweet,” Victor murmurs against Yuuri’s clavicle, pressing a tender kiss to where his skin is exposed. “Oh my…”

“What is it, Victor?”

The king lifts his head again, gently cupping the cheek of the omega who looks at him with concern now.

“I just realised,” Victor says softly, “that this was the first time someone has asked me how I was feeling in a very long time.”

Yuuri blinks, and all of a sudden, there is a deep sadness in his eyes that breaks Victor’s heart. “Oh…”

“Indeed.” Victor nods lightly. “Oh.”

For a moment, Yuuri is terribly quiet on his lap, his gaze lowered as he seems to have a thousand thoughts at one, and Victor is wise enough to not interrupt them. He waits patiently until Yuuri has found his voice again, and when he finally speaks, his voice and his eyes are full of warmth.

“Then I shall ask you every day,” he says softly and leans in to kiss Victor gently on the lips. “So that you will never forget how much your feelings mean to me.”

Victor closes his eyes with a sigh and kisses Yuuri in return, slowly, gently, with all the patience in the world. There are probably more suitable places for this than the breakfast table, but Yuuri is irresistible as he sits on his lap. And Yuuri responds, responds so heavenly, his arms coming closer around the king’s neck as he melts into the kiss.

Victor knows he would die for him.

He would renounce the crown for him, renounce his name for him, if it only meant to keep him at his side for the rest of his life.

Either way, what bliss.

“Victor…” Yuuri gasps.

They break apart to breathe, but their foreheads still touch, and Victor can feel Yuuri’s breath on his lips and his hands in his nape. It would be so easy, Victor thinks, to carry him to the bed now and to submit to their desires.

Yet, a servant walks in, and the magic of the moment is gone.

Half an hour later, Victor takes Yuuri to the stables where the stable boys have already prepared their horses. Victor’s mare neighs softly at his sight, and Victor greets her with a gentle pat.

“Good morning, my girl,” he hums and gives her a good rub. “I know what you are thinking,” he adds, glancing at Yuuri. “Why would an alpha ride a mare, and not a proud stallion, as it is custom?”

“I would never dare to think such a thing,” Yuuri replies, “but I cannot deny that I am curious.”

“You see, the reason is simple.” Victor reaches into a bucket nearby for an apple and feeds it to his mare. “Where I am stubborn, she is reason. Where I am wild, she is tame. And, of course, she is incredibly loyal and strong. Stallions only ever compete for attention. But not you, my girl.” He gently pats her nostrils and then turns towards the other horse, a slightly smaller mare of a rich, brown colour. She is a beautiful contrast to his own snow-white mare, but no less friendly.

“What do you think of her?” Victor asks as he takes her reins and leads her to Yuuri. “A fine girl, isn’t she. Feisty, too.”

“She is beautiful, Mylord,” Yuuri says and holds out his hand for the mare to sniff. The horse immediately picks up his scent and, recognising him as an omega, immediately nuzzles his palm affectionately. “She is still young, I think?”

Victor nods proudly. “You have an excellent eye, my sweet. Do you like her?”

“Oh, I do!” Yuuri says and laughs as the mare licks his palm. “I do like her so already!”

“I am glad to hear that,” Victor hums. “For she is yours.”

Yuuri immediately stops laughing and stares at Victor with wide eyes.

“You… you are gifting me a horse, Mylord?”

The king nods. “She shall be yours.”

In an instant, Yuuri sinks to his knees in an elegant curtsy before Victor can stop him, every inch of Yuuri the son of a nobleman that has been trained how to show those superior to him his gratitude.

“Thank you, your majesty,” he breathes as he looks up. “You are too kind.”

Victor holds out his hands and Yuuri takes them, slowly rising to his full height again.

“I’m glad to have made you happy,” he hums and presses a tender kiss to Yuuri’s lips. “Now, let us go for our ride, shall we?”

Yuuri nods, his cheeks burning and his eyes shining bright.

They could take down entire dynasties, Victor is sure.

The morning air is cool and crisp, and simply perfect for a ride. The early morning has always been Victor’s favourite time, especially at Lyubna. When the air is fresh and the sun has only just risen on the horizon.

Today, they are starting their ride later, for Yuuri is anything but a morning person, and likes to sleep in.

Watching Yuuri sleep is a pleasure in itself, and Victor trades an early morning ride gladly for it. But to see him sitting on the back of a horse, proud and tall, is another thing that the king takes great pleasure in. Yuuri has the natural grace of royalty, even when riding. No, Victor thinks. Even more so when riding. He holds his head high and his back upright, the reins firmly in his gloved hands as they ride along the shore of the lake. On the water, swans enjoy the rays of sunshine, spreading their white wings as if to greet the warmth in applause.

As always, they are not alone, with guards around in a safe distance to them to give them the privacy they desire. But it feels private, almost intimate, to ride side by side like this.

“It was your godmother who taught you to ride, yes?” Victor asks after a while, before them nothing but the wide valley of Lyubna.

“She did,” Yuuri confirms. “She always found the thought that an omega should not sit on a horse ridiculous. Whenever I visited her as a child, she would take me by the hand and go with me to the stables.”

“Did your parents know?”

“At first, no,” Yuuri replies. “My mother and father only learnt about it when they came to see my godmother unexpectedly while I was there. But they saw that I was good at it and let me be.”

“That was very kind of them,” Victor says with an approving nod. “They seem to be very progressive.”

“In some things, yes,” Yuuri agrees. “I know how fortunate I am to have such a family.”

“And you have a sister, you said?”

Yuuri nods, a smile appearing on his face. “Mari. She is seven years older than me and a true fighter. She refuses every potential husband presented to her – much to my father’s sorrow,” he adds with a chuckle.

“She sounds like a very headstrong woman, then,” Victor hums and finds that he likes Yuuri’s sister already, despite not even knowing her in person.

“You do not have any siblings?” Yuuri asks then, tilting his head to the side.

“I used to have a younger sister,” Victor explains, “but she died shortly after she was born. I do not remember her, I was only four years old back then.”

“I’m very sorry,” Yuuri says softly and bows his head.

Victor shrugs. “Like so many things, it lies in the past. Of course I would have loved to have a sibling or two, but I had Christophe. His father was my father’s best friend, and so, we became as close as brothers. We still are. Even though he is married and a father of two now.”

“I have heard of Lord Giacometti,” Yuuri says, pausing as they reach a clearing where the path splits into two. They pull the reins of their horses and stop, and Victor turns around to find his guards.

“Where do they lead?” He asks one of them and the man rides closer.

“The left one leads to the monastery, your majesty. The right one leads down to the valley and the river.”

“Oh, let us go to the monastery, Mylord!” Yuuri says excitedly. “You have told me the most marvellous things about it, and I would love to see it.”

Victor laughs and turns around in his saddle again. “As you wish, my sweet. The monastery it is. And the right path we shall take tomorrow.”

“Are we going out for a ride tomorrow again?” Yuuri asks, and Victor leans over to kiss him on the lips.

“There is still so much that I want to show you,” he whispers.

As he pulls away, Yuuri’s cheeks have turned a deep red.

The monastery lies on the other side of the forest, embedded between trees and gentle hills and protected from the outside world. Only those that know where it is can find it with ease, most people only ever stumbling upon it by accident. But every visitor, may they be expected or not, is greeted with kindness and welcomed in by the monks that live here.

Today is not an exception.

The king is well-known amongst the monks, and the abbot comes to greet them personally as they are spotted by the men working in the monastery’s gardens. Victor helps Yuuri down from his horse, holding him close as he introduces him to the abbot and declares that he would like to show him around personally.

No one stops the king, of course, and they are free to roam the monastery to their hearts’ delight.

It is a quiet, peaceful place that does not necessarily demand silence from them, but it is a place that reminds them that not every thought has to be spoken out loud in order to be of importance. It is pure bliss, Victor thinks, to have Yuuri walking by his side, holding onto his arm, with only a higher power to be their witness.

The chapel is an impressive room, but Victor knows that they have found the true jewel of the place the moment they enter the large herb garden and Yuuri’s eyes begin to shine. Of course, he would find a garden like this a lot more interesting than the actual place of worship, and Victor watches in delight as his beloved lets go of him and sinks to his knees in the dirt just to touch the tiniest of plants. Immediately, he strikes up a conversation with a young monk nearby, about various herbs and their purposes, many of them names that Victor has never heard before, but he listens patiently. Yuuri knows what he is talking about, that much is certain by the way he speaks with the monk, the conversation they have one between experts.

It is laughable, Victor thinks, that some people still regard omegas as mentally and cognitively inferior.

They have surely never met one like Yuuri.

“Your majesty?”

Victor looks up.

The abbot approaches him slowly and bows his head in greeting. “Forgive me, your majesty, but there is something that we would like to show you and your companion, of which we think you will find it most delightful.”

“Of course,” Victor says and clears his throat. “Yuuri? Are you coming?”

Yuuri interrupts his conversation with the other monk, turning around. “Of course,” he smiles and then quickly bows to the monk, thanking the young man for his time before he climbs through the dirt of the herb patch back to the path where Victor is waiting.

Victor has no idea what the abbot might show them, but they follow the old man through the garden to the stables where they stop in front of a gate.

“We found a dog quite a while ago,” the abbot explains as he opens the gate to let them in. “At first, we thought she was ill, but then she gave birth to a whole litter of puppies.”

Before them, on a pile of old potato sacks and rags, lies a beautiful, small version of Makkachin, and surrounding her, little brown balls of fur that whine and yip at their sight.

“Oh my!” Yuuri gasps and sinks to his knees, the little dogs immediately swarming around him to say hello. They bark and climb up his thighs, each of them trying to be petted, each of them fighting for Yuuri’s attention.

“Where did you find her?” Victor asks, unable to hide a smile himself, and he kneels down to pick up one of the puppies.

“Just outside the monastery gates, your majesty,” the abbot explains. “I believe someone left her there, knowing very well that she was about to have puppies.”

“And they are all healthy?”

The abbot sighs. “Sadly, we lost one of them, but that is to be expected when there is a litter of seven puppies. But the other six have been growing steadily, and their mother is taking great care of them.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Victor says and ruffles the fur of the puppy in his hand before setting it down again, where it promptly joins its siblings in wooing Yuuri, who laughs and coos at them in utter delight. “But you surely cannot keep seven dogs here.”

“We intend to keep the mother, your majesty,” the abbot informs him. “Poodles are intelligent, so she will be a great companion for us. For some of the puppies, we have already found homes in the families of our brothers.”

“I see. But not for all of them?”

“Not yet, your majesty.”

Victor hums thoughtfully and holds a finger up to his lips as he watches Yuuri play with the puppies, two of them successfully on his lap now and trying to climb up his chest. Yuuri laughs, and he sounds so happy that Victor’s heart aches.

“Yuuri, my sweet,” he says. “Which one do you want?”

Yuuri looks at him, and his eyes grow wide.

* * *

The dog sits contentedly on Yuuri’s lap that evening, his tiny tail wagging at impossible speed as his new owner showers him with cuddles and kisses.

It was the right decision, Victor thinks fondly as he watches Yuuri coo at the puppy that is already so fixated on him. Yuuri’s eyes are shining in utter delight, the smile has not vanished from his face for hours, and there could truly never be a more beautiful sight than that.

“Who is the best boy?” Yuuri purrs and runs his fingers through the thick, curly fur. “Yes, it’s you!”

The puppy yips as if to confirm, and Yuuri sighs in utter delight.

“Have you already thought of a name for the dog?” Victor asks and takes a sip from the wine he holds in his hands.

Yuuri tilts his head to the side and holds the puppy up to his face, nuzzling its fur.

“I shall call him Vicchan,” he says softly and kisses the puppy’s head before he looks up again and meets Victor’s gaze. “After the man that so graciously gifted him to me.”

Something deep inside Victor stirs, something he cannot quite explain. But it is a wonderful feeling, and he lets it be, and cherishes it, and allows it to take hold of him.

He reaches out to take Yuuri’s hand, who so willingly gives it to him, and presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

“I would give you the world, my sweet.”

And all he can do is hope that Yuuri believes him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments and kind words! <3  
> This chapter is PACKED! There is a lot happening, and I hope it all makes sense.  
> The character of Victoria is modelled after the character of Grete in the film "Luther" (the one with Joseph Fiennes about the German reformator). 
> 
> Also, kudos to those who spot the Jane Eyre reference!

The flowers in the vase look as fresh as the day they have been picked.

Yuuri reaches out to touch them, fingertips against tender petals. It is a small miracle that they are blooming at this time of the year. But here, in the warm bedroom, they are protected from the icy winds that still come over the land these days and bring joy to those that admire them.

It is still dark outside, the sun has yet to rise on the horizon, but Yuuri has woken rather early this time. After a trip to the privy, where he finds that there is no blood on his undergarments, he has retreated to the alcove and looks out into the night.

It is warm in the bedroom, and Yuuri does not feel cold, despite the fact he is only wearing a shift and his feet are bare. The bed has kept him warm, and so have the many thick furs on it. Yuuri wonders what animals they used to belong to, but he truly cannot tell. Victor most likely cannot either, he thinks. But that is not his duty anyway.

There are so many things Victor has to keep in mind already.

He cannot know everything.

Yuuri turns his head, his eyes wandering to the bed where Victor is sleeping peacefully. Only his hair is visible, peeking out from under the sheets and shining in the light of the fire. Before coming to the palace, Yuuri had only ever heard stories about the king’s hair, that it was supposed to be as white as snow. But Victor’s hair is the colour of the light of the moon, and his eyes are the colour of the northern sea.

The king is a breathtakingly beautiful man, whose soul carries an incredible amount of sadness.

Yuuri has realised that the night they have been together for the very first time. Has felt it the first time Victor had him, has felt it confirmed the first time they have kissed.

He has seen the king’s tears and has wiped them away, too.

He has seen Victor’s heartbreak, and his humanity.

There is no greater honour than that.

And yet, no one else seems to know the man behind the façade – except for Lord Giacometti, perhaps. No one seems to bother to learn about the man that wears the crown, and Victor seems to be far too used to it. It is wrong, so very wrong, and Yuuri wishes that there were more people in the king’s life to show him genuine kindness.

For Heaven only knows how much Victor needs it.

Yuuri rises from the bench in the alcove and walks back to the bed, slipping under the covers beside the king and curling up against his chest. Victor reaches for him out of sheer instinct, it seems, his arm coming around Yuuri and holding him close. Yuuri smiles, knowing that Victor is awake the moment he feels his lips on his hair.

“Is it morning already,” Victor whispers and runs a hand through Yuuri’s hair, the gesture so tender what it makes Yuuri’s heart ache.

“No,” he whispers back and buries his face in the king’s shoulder, where his soothing, warming scent awaits him. It is enough to calm Yuuri’s heart, to make him feel safe and protected, to reassure him that the king wants him here.

It is just one of many honours.

But it is the one Yuuri values the most.

Victor sighs and nuzzles his hair, and he pulls Yuuri even closer, their legs entangling beneath the covers. “You are so warm,” he whispers, “oh, I should never let you leave my arms…”

Yuuri is glad that the room is dark, for he blushes at the king’s words – does so many times, whenever the king shows him kindness. It is still a mystery to him why he is the one that the king wants to have around – why it is him that the king showers in affection, why it is him that is allowed to call him by his name.

A name that Yuuri will always keep locked away in his heart, when their ways will part again, and he will become nothing to him again.

But for now, he has Victor to himself, and Yuuri intends to make use of it.

“Then don’t,” he whispers and presses a gentle kiss to the king’s chest. “I only left for a moment and discovered something.”

“Did you,” Victor sighs.

“Yes,” Yuuri breathes and kisses up to Victor’s clavicle. He shuffles closer ever so slightly as he reaches down to where Victor’s arm rests around his clothed waist beneath the covers, and he takes his hand and slowly guides it down to his bare thigh. “I am not bleeding anymore, Mylord…”

In an instant, he feels Victor shift, his hands roaming Yuuri’s body as if it were something he has yet to claim and discover, as if they had not shared the heights of passion before. And yet, despite his fervour, Victor is gentle, too gentle, almost, as he buries his face in Yuuri’s neck and kisses him there, and Yuuri almost loses his mind.

“Oh, my sweet,” he hears the king whisper, and although his voice is so quiet, Yuuri hears the want and the lust, feels it in the fire that seems to pour from Victor’s hands on him. And he gives in to it, willingly, and he gasps softly as Victor’s lips find his own and they come even closer, the king’s body heavy on his own.

“Do you consent?” Victor whispers against his lips and Yuuri wants to cry, wants to weep at the gentleness of his king, at his consideration and concern for his approval of what they are about to do. What else could he say to him but _I do_ , what else could he give him than his body, and all of his heart, and all of his love?

For love is what he feels for Victor, for his king, and it causes him the most beautiful of pains.

A breathed “Yes” is all that comes over Yuuri’s lips before the king takes him. He gasps as he feels Victor enter him, both in surprise and in pain at the intrusion, but he breathes through it, the pain soon replaced with warmth, want, and need. There are a thousand thoughts in his head, far too many for Yuuri to consider. A thousand reminders of what to do, how to behave, what to expect. The advice of his mother, of Minako, all of them well-meaning yet insignificant when one lies in the arms of the king and is loved by him. For it is heavenly, and it demands nothing but patience, passion, and devotion.

All of it Yuuri has to give, and he does so with all his heart.

His arms come around Victor, his fingers holding onto his shirt on his back, his legs hook around his waist, and his lips move on his own as they come together for a passionate kiss that tolerates no disturbance. Victor kisses deeply, fiercely, just like he thrusts into him with fervour. It is too much, Yuuri thinks and he cries out as Victor hits a certain place deep inside him, too much for anyone to bear. How could people do this, again, and again, and again, without ever losing themselves in it for good? How could people keep on living after knowing this, and never do it again?

How could Yuuri ever leave him, now that he knew what love could do?

Perhaps it is the fact they have had to remain chaste the last few days, or perhaps it is because of the passion alone that Victor cries out far too soon, his fingers digging into the flesh of Yuuri’s waist as he comes deep inside him and comes to rest on top of him with a deep, satisfied sigh.

Yuuri’s eyes remain shut, his breath and heart slowly calming as he comes to his senses again and feels Victor’s weight on top of him. He is warm, his body hard where his own is soft, and Yuuri can feel his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. What a strong man he is, Yuuri thinks, and so tender at the same time.

He could crush him with ease. Hurt him, even.

But Yuuri knows that Victor would never hurt him, and that the safest place is right here, in his arms.

“Yuuri,” he hears him whisper, and the omega opens his eyes as he feels Victor shift, just enough to pull himself up to look at him. Victor’s face is beautifully flushed, and Yuuri is sure he has never seen him looking more beautiful. Victor cups his cheek and kisses him with outmost care. “You have not come yet, have you.”

Now it is Yuuri’s turn to blush, for Victor has never asked him outright – not that he has ever needed to. The previous times, Victor’s thrusts have been enough to make him see the stars, but today, it has happened too fast, and Victor has come too early, and has left Yuuri unsatisfied. This is the norm, Yuuri remembers, thinking of what he has been told about mating before coming to the palace. To find pleasure in it the way he has is unusual, and he should consider himself lucky that he got to experience such bliss. But Victor is waiting for an answer, and Yuuri does not know what to say to him.

“It is nothing,” he whispers, “it really does not matter.”

Victor shakes head. “But it does, my sweet,” he whispers in return, “for I want you to enjoy yourself just like I do.”

Yuuri shivers at the tenderness of Victor’s words, and even more so as he feels his lover’s hand on his waist and slipping between his thighs. Victor is still inside him, he only realises that now, inside him so deep that the warmth spreads through Yuuri’s body and he gasps as he feels Victor shift and move inside him, just as his fingers begin to touch him.

“Victor, you don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” Victor whispers into his ear and moves his fingers slowly, and Yuuri’s eyes fall shut.

To think that Victor’s fingers could do something like this to him with ease, sending shivers down his spine and luring moans to come over his lips. And they are loud, so very loud that Yuuri bites down on his lower lip to remain quiet, what he has been told to be in the king’s bed. But he fails, fails spectacularly, and he cries out as he comes after just a minute of whatever it is that Victor is doing to him.

It is the height of bliss.

Yuuri feels unable to move, his body positively exhausted as Victor finally removes himself from him and leaves the bed. Yuuri rolls over with a sigh, wrapping his arms around the pillow beneath his head as he watches Victor move around the room, dressed in nothing but his sleeping shirt. Dressed like this, he looks very little like the powerful, mighty king that he is, but Yuuri loves that about him.

In the sanctuary of the bedroom, he becomes an ordinary man.

Victor pours them each a cup of water and returns to the bed, the mattress dipping low as he sits down beside Yuuri and bends down to kiss his forehead.

“I always find myself rather thirsty after such delightful activities,” he says.

Yuuri chuckles and moves to sit up a little, accepting the water that Victor offers him. And indeed, his mouth is dry, and the water refreshes both body and spirit.

“How are you feeling, my sweet?” Victor asks and runs his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. “I did not hurt you, no? I was a bit too passionate, I think.”

“Absolutely not,” Yuuri assures him. “I loved it.”

“I’m glad,” Victor says and kisses him again before he takes the empty cup from him and sets it aside together with his own. When he turns around to Yuuri again, he leans forward and lets their foreheads touch, the gesture so incredibly intimate that Yuuri holds his breath. Victor places his hand in Yuuri’s nape, and their lips touch just for a second, but it is enough to set Yuuri’s heart on fire, and he knows he wants more.

Yet, it is Victor that dictates their pace, and he allows the king to pull him against his side and into his arms, where it is warm and safe.

“I know it is not morning yet, and we could go back to sleep right away,” he says softly. “But I want to keep looking at you, like this. And talk to you, and hear you speak. Undisturbed by the world. Is that ridiculous?”

Yuuri shakes his head and looks up at him. “It isn’t,” he says and leans in to kiss Victor on the cheek, just right on the corner of his mouth. “I like talking to you, too. Very much.”

“I am not very interesting to talk to, I’m afraid,” Victor sighs. “You, on the other hand, are like an enigma.”

Yuuri frowns. “Of course you are interesting to talk to,” he says and takes Victor’s hand. “I do not mean that because you are the king, but because you are interesting beyond the crown. Despite the crown. Without the crown.” He intertwines their fingers gently and gives Victor’s hand a squeeze of reassurance. “Nothing makes me as happy as talking to you.”

“But what would I possibly have interesting to say,” Victor sighs and looks down at their joined hands. “I am terribly boring. All I ever do is… govern.”

“You are not boring, Victor,” Yuuri says softly. “You have so many interests and are very learned. And you are so passionate when you speak about the things you enjoy. It is such a wonderful thing you see. Besides, if the only thing you are doing were govern, then what have we been doing these past few days?”

Victor laughs at that and that seems to wake the dogs that sleep next door, for the next thing they hear are scratching paws on the floor and the small yips of a puppy.

“Should we let them in?” Victor asks and raises an eyebrow.

“I fear they will chew through the door if we don’t,” Yuuri chuckles and lets go of Victor as he gets up to let the dogs in. Makkachin shoots first into the room and right onto the bed, whereas Vicchan has to be picked up by Victor and brought there. But the moment Vicchan settles in Yuuri’s lap, he curls up there in utter happiness, and Makkachin immediately stretches out on Victor’s side of the bed as if she owns it.

“The very image of happiness, right there,” Victor laughs and sits beside Yuuri again. “I fear we must share this side of the bed.”

“I don’t mind,” Yuuri smiles and shuffles to make space for him, keeping Vicchan close as he lies down.

“They are like children, almost,” Victor chuckles and lies down beside him and puts his arm around his middle. “This is… awfully domestic.”

“It is,” Yuuri whispers, careful not to crush the puppy in his arms as he rests his head on Victor’s head and closes his eyes.

He has to savour this moment, for no one can tell when it would ever come again.

Their time together is limited, Yuuri knows that, but the thought is painful – so he pushes it aside, and listens to Victor’s heartbeat as they fall asleep again.

* * *

One of the few valuable lessons Victor has received from his father is the one that taught him to respect mother nature.

All life stems from her, and if one respects her, takes care of her and cherishes her, she will take care of you in return. Victor has realised this from a very young age, the forests always his favourite places and his refuge whenever he needs to breathe. Especially the forests surrounding Lyubna Castle hold a lot of power, always awaiting him with peace and quiet and hidden healing powers. Mother nature is kind, and she has taught Victor kindness in return.

He is glad to share it with someone now. Yuuri feels the powers of nature just as much as he does, he knows it. His natural gentleness and grace come from it, allow him to see and breathe the same way Victor does, nature not making a difference between a king and his subject. Not that Yuuri is a subject to him. Yuuri is special, beyond class and status, and only a fool would try to put him in one particular place.

One would have to be a fool to try and tame him.

He has a wild, free spirit. A spirit that rejoices now as they are out in nature again, on the backs of their horses, riding through the forest. They have taken the other path this time, not the one down to the monastery but the one that leads to the grand valley. Victor cannot remember if he has ever taken this road, but he does not mind that he has neglected it until now. After all, it is something new to experience, something to explore with Yuuri at his side.

Their guards keep a distance, and the illusion of privacy and intimacy is almost perfect.

The air is cold, and Yuuri’s cheeks are reddened by the low temperatures, but he is dressed in a warm fur coat and does not complain. Victor wonders what Yuuri dresses like in summer – most likely in light, sheer gowns. But no – those are the fashion of the palace. What do northerners wear in summer? And the people of Hasetsu in particular? There is so much that Victor does not know, he realises that now, and he must learn more. Yes, perhaps it would be best if he were to travel to the north himself, to see Hasetsu with his own eyes.

Perhaps, Victor thinks, it is time to spend a summer in the north.

There is surely a manor to rent or to buy.

“What are you thinking about, Mylord?”

Yuuri’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and Victor finds the omega studying him with amusement.

“You have been staring into the distance,” Yuuri adds with a chuckle. “I was beginning to wonder if you were guiding your horse against a tree.”

Victor laughs. “Fortunately, she is smart enough,” he says and pats his loyal mare’s neck in affection. “She makes up for my shortcomings.”

“So you have been lost in your thoughts,” Yuuri concludes softly and guides his horse a little bit closer to Victor’s. “I hope it was something nice.”

“I just let my thoughts wander for a while,” Victor says and reaches over to take Yuuri’s hand. Their hands are gloved, but Victor feels Yuuri’s warmth nonetheless. “Actually, I was thinking about Hasetsu, and that I have never been there. Do you think it is a nice place to spend a summer?”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. “You wish to come to Hasetsu?”

“Why not?” Victor asks. “As I said, I have never been there, and the summer might be a great opportunity to see it. But I have no idea what summers in Hasetsu are like.”

“We obviously have the nicest summers,” Yuuri replies and squeezes his hand. “The ocean is beautiful when the sun shines onto it. My sister and I spent all of our childhood summers at the beach.”

“I shall be looking forward to it, then,” Victor hums and lets go of Yuuri’s hand again to take the reins. “The summers in Petersburg are nice, but so dreadfully dull. The heat is far too heavy on the body, and there is no such refreshment as an ocean. There is the river, yes, but a king could hardly go down to it and bathe in it with the commoners. Not that I would mind their presence,” he adds quickly when Yuuri raises an eyebrow critically. “But it would not be safe. I must keep in mind that I have no heirs to replace me.” He sighs heavily at that, not that he needs another reminder of what he is lacking.

His councillors and his uncle do so every single day.

“I understand,” Yuuri says softly. “If you come to Hasetsu, I am sure my family would be most happy to have you.”

Victor smiles warmly at him. “I am looking forward to it, then. Where in Hasetsu—”

But Yuuri holds up his hand to stop Victor from talking, eyes wide as he sits upright on the horse and listens carefully.

“Yuuri, what is it?”

But Yuuri shakes his head vigorously, a concentrated frown on his face as he listens into the forest.

“There is a child crying,” he whispers and looks at Victor in worry. “Can’t you hear it?”

Victor wants to shake his head and say that he does not, but then, he hears it too – clearly, in the distance, the upset cries of a child.

“We must find it!” Yuuri says and before Victor can say anything, Yuuri is riding ahead of him into the forest.

“Yuuri, wait!” Victor calls and takes after him, the guards close behind now as they go deeper into the forest, away from the path that leads safely into the valley. But Yuuri does not slow down, seems determined as he turns his head in all directions in search for the child whose cries are becoming louder and louder now.

“Your majesty,” a guard calls from right behind Victor. “I believe there is something over there!”

Victor turns his head and follows the guard’s gesture with his eyes to a large, fallen over tree trunk in the distance. Next to it seems to cower someone.

Yuuri sees it, too.

In an instant, he glides off the horse and hastens through the leaves and dirt, not even bothering to gather his coat to keep it lifted and clean.

“Wait here,” Victor commands his guards and gets off his own horse, following Yuuri down to the tree log where a small child is sitting on the cold ground and crying. It is a girl, Victor realises after a few moments, a girl so poorly dressed that she can only be a beggar’s child. Surrounding her are twigs and branches of various sizes, as if she had been collecting them. At their sight, she stops crying and becomes even smaller out of fear.

Victor assumes she has never seen people like them before.

“Hello, there,” Yuuri says softly as he crouches down beside her and smiles. “Are you lost?”

The little girl stares at him with wide eyes, apparently unable to speak.

“We heard you cry, and we were so worried that you might have been hurt,” Yuuri says and gestures briefly at Victor, who does not know what else to do but to watch and let Yuuri do the talking. “Were you collecting firewood?”

The little girl nods shyly, immediately grasping the twigs that are right beside her, as if afraid that they would take them away.

“And then you fell?” Yuuri asks, glancing down at her dirty knees. “I know how scary that can be. I used to fall in my father’s garden all the time when I was little.”

The little girl seems sceptical of it, but she appears to open up to Yuuri a little, looking him over, admiring his magnificent coat.

“You must know, this man here is the king,” he adds in a whisper and the little girl’s eyes widen as she looks at Victor in shock. “But he is the nicest man of them all, and we would like to take you home.” Yuuri holds out his hand to her. “Do you want to ride on my horse with me, and you show us the way? And one of the guards can take the firewood for you?”

The little girl hesitates before she takes Yuuri’s hand, her own so small compared to his. Yuuri helps her to stand and then lifts her into his arms with ease to take her with him to his horse.

Victor sees that she wears no shoes, and that one of her feet is deformed.

Yuuri mounts his horse again with the help of a guard, holding the little girl close and secure to his chest. She gasps as she touches the fur of Yuuri’s coat, her eyes wide as she runs her fingers through it. Yuuri smiles and opens his coat a little, wrapping her into it.

“It’s warm, isn’t it?”

The sight of the little girl in Yuuri’s coat breaks Victor’s heart.

“Now, can you tell me which way we have to go?” Yuuri asks her softly. “That way?”

The little girl never speaks, only ever points, nods, or shakes her head at the questions Yuuri asks her. He is good with children, Victor thinks as he watches him interact with the child so naturally as if she were his own. He smiles, his voice is gentle, and he tries to distract the girl as much as possible, even managing to make her smile eventually.

Children have always confused Victor.

He has never had any siblings he could remember, and when his cousin Yura had been born, fifteen years ago, Victor had not known what to do with the crying infant.

Even today, he struggles to understand his cousin and his antics.

But for Yuuri, it seems so easy to interact with the child.

Perhaps it is nature, Victor thinks. Perhaps it is because Yuuri is an omega that he is great with children. But then again, his mother had been an omega, and she had been awful at it.

“Down there?” Yuuri asks the girl as they reach a clearing on top of a hill that leads down to a small valley where, in the distance, a village appears.

The little girl nods firmly and Yuuri turns his head to look at the king.

“I believe she lives here, Mylord,” he says and Victor leads his horse to stand right beside Yuuri’s to look down the hill to the village that lies before them. But the longer he looks, the more he realises that the village is in just the same desolate state as the girl, the houses barely more but huts.

“What is this place?” Yuuri asks him, apparently coming to the same realisation as Victor.

“I don’t know,” Victor admits and exchanges a glance with a guard, but before he can say anything else, the little girl begins to whine.

“Right, of course,” Yuuri says and carefully slides from the saddle while holding her in his arms. “I’ll take you to your parents, yes?”

“What?” In an instant, Victor dismounts his horse. “Yuuri, we do not know what this place even is. It could be dangerous!”

But Yuuri has already begun to walk down the hill with the little girl in his arms, determination in his step that leaves the king behind with no other choice but to either stay where he is or to follow him.

Victor chooses the latter.

As a matter of prudence, only two guards follow him, on foot just like the king and his lover. The closer they come to the village, the more Victor realises how poor it is, and in what a terrible condition the huts are in.

And it is not just the huts.

Faces appear in the distance – faces of men, women, and children. All of them wearing clothes that are more like rags. Children, barefoot like the little girl that Yuuri is carrying, their knees dirty from walking through the mud. In an enclosure, there are a few chickens and a few goats, as well as a single cow.

Victor has never seen something as heartbreaking and terrible as this in his life, and it sends shivers down his spine that he does not understand.

“Can you see your mama?” Yuuri asks softly as the girl demands to be let down to the ground. The moment he lets go of her she stumbles off, right into the arms of a woman that has come running their way in shock. She embraces her child with a relieved cry, kissing the little girl all over and cupping her cheeks as she asks her if she is alright, in the way only a mother can.

“What is this place?” Victor asks the guard that stands beside him, never taking his eyes off Yuuri, who know approaches the woman and begins to talk to her. What he says Victor cannot hear, for Yuuri is too far away, but the woman’s eyes widen and she holds her child closer as she bows and seems to apologise over and over again.

Yuuri can hardly stop her.

“A nameless village, your majesty,” the guard says to the king. “Most likely made one as part of the peace negotiations eighty years ago.”

The woman is still apologising, bowing again and again until Yuuri gently grasps her by the shoulders and speaks soothingly to her. She looks at him, her eyes still wide, but full of gratitude.

“I have seen that there are many ill people here,” Yuuri says and looks past the woman at the other villagers that have come closer and watch them cautiously. “And you have pockmarks on your face, too, good mother.” He reaches out to touch the woman’s cheek, and Victor, alarmed, takes another few steps forward. The woman gasps and steps back, pulling her child with her as Victor comes closer and touches Yuuri’s shoulder warningly. “Yuuri, don’t.”

Yuuri turns around to him. “Nothing can happen to me,” he says quietly. “It is not contagious. I just want to see what I can do to help these people.”

The little girl whispers into her mother’s ear, and judging by the change of expression on the woman’s face, she has just learnt that before her stands the king. In an instant, she drops to her knees, and as the other villagers put two and two together, they all follow, kneeling before him in the dirt and casting down their eyes in what they think is respect.

In Victor’s eyes, it is the epitome of humiliation.

He feels Yuuri’s gaze on him, but he is ashamed to meet it.

“I should go,” he says quietly and turns around to leave.

“What?” Yuuri grabs his arm, tries to hold him back. “Mylord, these are your people, they—”

“My presence here is a disturbance,” Victor says softly and briefly looks at the people, at their torn clothes, at their desolate huts that they call their home. A place forgotten by the crown, it seems, ignored and left to die in the shadows. “I make these people uncomfortable. I should wait out of sight.”

Yuuri’s hand is still a heavy weight on his arm as their eyes meet again, his gaze full of pity and understanding. Victor knows that no more words are needed, that he does not want to leave because the people disgust him, but because he is disgusted by himself. Disgusted by what he has not done, but should have, a very long time ago.

“Take all the time you need,” Victor says. “I will tell my men to bring more firewood.”

With that, he leaves Yuuri behind, walking back to their horses that wait up the hill with their guards.

The eyes of the villagers burn on his back as they watch him leave.

Only as Victor reaches his horse and can hold onto her, he feels able to breathe again. But the air does nothing to his lungs, nothing to calm his spirit. The faces of the men, women, and children stay with him, even when he closes his eyes.

“Bring the villagers some more firewood,” he tells his guards that pretend not to see how much their king is struggling. They do as he tells him, walking back to the forest to get the firewood for the people. Proper firewood, and not just what has fallen from the trees and is already rotten.

But these people belong to a Nameless Village, and that means they know what they are allowed to take and what they must not touch.

To think that one still exists, at this day and age.

Many villages have been cut off by the crown after the revolts that took place during his grandfather’s reign. Making them nameless had meant to separate them from the crown and from the love of the king, making them defenceless, turning them into beggars as punishment. Victor knows that his father had reversed many of his grandfather’s decisions.

But the villages, the many villages, have been forgotten.

Just like the one that they have come across now, the existence of the people one of beggars.

It has been in his power to help them all this time.

And yet, the people kneel before him as if he had not wronged them.

Down at the village, Victor can see Yuuri sitting with an old woman, touching her wrinkled face and inspecting the scars she has. The villagers watch, they gather around him now without fear, as if he were one of their own.

Yuuri is so much better at this than he is, Victor realises as he watches his beloved squeeze the hands of the old woman and move on to the next person, a child whose left leg is shorter than the other and walks with great difficulty. The mother is right behind her child, holding the boy’s shoulders as Yuuri examines the leg and exchanges a few words with her.

“Your majesty,” one of his guards says carefully. “Is it safe to leave His Grace with these people?”

Victor briefly glances at the man. “They mean no harm. And their ailments cannot affect him.” He reaches up to scratch his mare behind the ear, and she neighs softly, nudging him with her nose. “Their ailments are the kind that comes from poverty and malnutrition.”

The guard nods, but keeps an eye on Yuuri, and so do the guards that return eventually with firewood and bring it to the people in the village. At first, they stare at them, but then take it gratefully and even bow.

For something as simple as firewood.

Victor leads their horses to a fresh patch of grass, letting them graze while Yuuri is with the people, doing much more than Victor ever could in this moment. His presence is only a hindrance here.

“Your majesty.”

The voice of the guard makes Victor turn around, just to see the little girl they have brought home to come walking up the hill. She walks slowly, but as fast as her deformity allows her. In her hands, she holds what looks like an apple, small and with dark spots, not like the polished ones they have at the palace. Upon reaching the top of the hill, she stops, and clumsily curtsies before Victor as best as she can.

It breaks his heart.

“Please don’t,” he says quietly and crouches down before her. “You do not have to curtsy before me, little one.”

She looks at him in confusion and childlike wonder, but not as shy as she has been upon being found in the woods. Then, she holds out her hand and shows him the apple that now looks even smaller in her tiny hands.

“Is it for my horse?” Victor asks.

She shakes her head and takes another step forward, and Victor understands, and holds out his hand as she lets the apple roll into his palm.

“For me?”

The girl nods and points down the hill to a small tree that grows by the enclosure for the animals.

Victor smiles and turns the apple in his hand. “Your apple tree grows beautiful fruit.” Then, he bites into it, much to the shock of his guards. “And delicious ones, too.”

The girl smiles at him, her first real smile, showing off the gap between her front teeth.

“But that apple tree does not grow enough to feed you all, does it,” Victor says softly. “Do you often go to bed hungry?”

She nods again, clasping her hands behind her back almost sheepishly.

Victor glances at his guard. “There is bread and meat in my saddle bag. She shall have it.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the guard says and goes to fetch the provisions.

“I know it is not enough for all of you,” Victor says to the girl, “but it is a promise that everything will soon be better.”

He is not sure if she is old enough to know what a promise is, but she smiles nonetheless at him, the way only children can when they give you their full trust.

Victor knows he is not worthy.

As the guard returns with the pouch full of food, Victor holds out his hand for the girl to take. “Shall we go down again together?”

She takes his hand in an instant.

It feels surreal to walk with a child, Victor thinks, for he has never really interacted with children before and is not quite sure how to behave. But his new friend holds onto his hand tightly, almost dragging him along and instinctively following a path that Victor has not noticed before in the mud. It looks manmade, as if the villagers had tried to make at least this bit of land that connects them with the forest a bit safer. The closer they come to the village, the more people notice them, but they do not bow and kneel this time – probably because Yuuri tells them not to, for his beloved turns around and smiles at him.

Victor knows he does not deserve his smile in the slightest.

At their sight, the mother of the little girl steps forward, her eyes widening at the sight of the pouch full of food. “Please take it,” Victor says before she can refuse. “It is my wish that your children shall not go to bed hungry tonight.”

The woman looks at him in wonder for a long moment before she nods, and she, too, smiles at him in utter gratitude. And so do the other villagers, Victor realises, all of them are smiling at him and not regarding him with mistrust and hatred.

He feels Yuuri’s gaze on him, and as their eyes meet, Victor sees encouragement in them.

 _Speak to your people_ , they say.

Victor swallows thickly.

“What is her name?” He asks the woman before him, looking down at the little girl that now stands between them and leans against her mother’s leg. Smiling, still.

“V-Victoria, your majesty,” the woman says in a quiet and respectful tone. “Named after our good and most gracious king.”

Victor’s heart aches at her words.

“Can she not speak?” He asks, fighting the stinging in his eyes, the tears that threaten to form in them.

The mother shakes her head. “She only ever smiles, your majesty. The world is her friend.”

That is something Victor believes in an instant, for he has felt that the child has an open and kind heart that welcomes everybody in, may they be ordinary people or kings. It is a wonderful gift to have, and one that Victor knows he is severely lacking.

Even now, she smiles at him, and Victor gives her a smile in return.

“She wants to say that she is praying for you every night, your majesty,” her mother says, and Victoria half hides in her mother’s skirts.

“That is very kind of you,” Victor says softly. That the words even come out and are comprehensible surprises him most. “Is there a village leader that I could speak to?” He asks, and the woman, much to his surprise, shakes her head.

“We do not have one, your majesty,” she answers.

Victor nods. “Would you be willing to answer me some questions, then?”

The woman’s eyes widen just slightly this time, but Victor knows what she is thinking – that he, as the king, should demand to speak to an alpha. A male one, preferably. Not to an omega woman like her. But she does not question his wish, but gently tells her daughter to go and share the food with the other children. Victoria grabs the pouch and stumbles off at once. The other children of the village gather around her immediately, all of them breaking the bread and meat into smaller pieces to naturally share with each other, as if keeping it to themselves had never even crossed their minds.

They even offer some to Yuuri, who laughs softly and kisses their little heads as he politely declines.

“Show me your village, please,” Victor says to the woman, even though there is not much to see but huts and dirt and a few goats. But she does as he asks of her, leading him to the enclosure, to the small patch where they try to grow crops, and to the well. It is old and in need of maintenance, but even Victor can see that in order to fix it, proper tools would be needed. Tools that these people do not have.

And yet, they carry themselves with a pride that Victor has never seen before. The children run around as if the village were not in a terrible state but a rich and flourishing city, among them Victoria, running after them as fast as she could, despite her deformity.

“Is there nothing one could do?” Victor asks her mother, and the woman shakes her head.

“She was born like this, your majesty. The gods made her like this. There is nothing a person could do.”

Victor knows that, of course. “But perhaps the monks from the Lyubna monastery could help. Does clergy ever come to this village?”

The woman clasps her hand in front of her and looks away. “Sometimes there will be travelling monks and priests, but they avoid this village because they must. I once met one of them when I was in the woods with my child. He wore the robes of the capital, I believe, and offered me absolution for my child in exchange for…” She falls silent, but she does not have to say more. She takes a deep breath before she continues. “I said no. He told me that when the time comes it was entirely up to me if my deformed child would be able to run into the arms of the holy mother.”

Suddenly, she smirks, and she looks at her child that is just as carefree as the others. She runs, and she laughs, even if no sound comes over her lips. “I believe she is doing just fine, your majesty.”

Victor has nothing more to say to that.

* * *

The ride back to the manor is silent.

Yuuri does not pressure Victor to talk, and so, they keep their thoughts to themselves. Victor is sure that if they had been alone, Yuuri would have tried to speak to him about what they have seen, but doing so in the presence of guards seems inappropriate.

Victor is not sure how he could possibly explain any of this to him.

How Yuuri could possibly ever choose to stay with him, after all this.

They leave their horses in the hands of the stable master and walk inside, the warmth of the fires that have been lit hitting their faces the moment they come in. It only reinforces the fact that it is cold outside, and that there are children that walk without shoes as they collect firewood to warm themselves at night.

The caretaker is in the hall, but as if he were seeing something in the king’s face, he does not approach them but steps away, out of the way as the king walks up the stairs. His lover is close behind, follows him to the bedroom that they share, and does not say a word, not until the door has fallen shut behind them and they are alone.

“Are you alright, mylord?”

Victor takes off his coat, his gloves, everything that feels far too constricting now, tossing it aside onto the bed with a frustrated huff.

“Victor.”

Yuuri comes closer, stands right beside him, watches him struggle as he tries to take off his boots.

“Let me—”

“You are not a servant, Yuuri!” Victor barks and Yuuri steps back, his eyes wide only for a split second, but it is long enough to make Victor realise his mistake.

“Of course,” is all that Yuuri says, his voice quiet and composed, and he steps away to the fireplace.

Victor closes his eyes, feeling his body burn in anger and shame.

He gives up on his boot and turns around, watching as Yuuri takes off his gloves and coat with all the patience in the world.

“Forgive me.”

Yuuri looks up, his eyes, as always, full of warmth and understanding. “Let me help you with your boots, please.”

Victor lets him.

It does not feel right to see Yuuri kneeling on the floor before him, not even for just this short moment until the boots finally come off and are left to dry by the fire. As Yuuri stands again, Victor knows that one can escape a conversation for only so long. But he is not sure if he is ready to have it.

“Victor?” Yuuri says softly and touches his arm, right by his wrist, and Victor feels the cold that still inhabits Yuuri’s fingers. Cold that they can escape, but many people cannot.

“Your hands are cold,” Victor murmurs. “You should take a bath now. I do not wish for you to become sick.”

There is something absolute in his voice that allows no objections. And Yuuri hears it, too.

Victor can only hope that Yuuri will not hate him for it.

“Yes, Victor,” he says quietly and his hand slips away, away from Victor’s arm, and the king closes his eyes as Yuuri walks out of the room, and the door falls shut with a quiet click.

For a long moment, Victor does not move, only staring into the flames.

And then, with a shout of rage that he has not known he has had in him before, he grabs his boot and throws it across the room, smashing the mirror that shows nothing but lies.

Breathing heavily, he sinks down in the armchair by the fireplace, and buries his face in his hands as the pounding in his ears becomes stronger and deafening.

Hence, he does not hear that the door opens and closes again, and that Anatoly has come with refreshments, and that he begins to pick up the shards of the destroyed mirror to throw them away. Victor only notices his presence as Anatoly moves a small table out of the way to reach all of the shards, and the king raises his head first in surprise, and then lowers it again in shame.

“I will pick them up later,” he says quietly to his valet, who gently shakes his head.

“I already got them all, Mylord,” he says and throws them into a bucket.

“I’m sorry,” Victor murmurs. “I… I do not know how I could lose control all of a sudden.”

“We all have moments when the emotions run very high, Mylord,” Anatoly says, being the ever-patient servant that Victor knows and respects. “I have brought you hot wine and something light to eat. Perhaps that will help to soothe your spirits.”

Victor looks at the plate of food: a variety of bread, meat, and cheese, far too much for him and Yuuri to eat on their own.

“We stumbled upon a nameless village today,” he says, and he does not even know why he can say it now, and why to Anatoly of all people – but perhaps it is because Anatoly has been in his service for so many years, and has seen him at his best and at his worst. “I have never seen people in such a desolate state. Men, women, children, wearing clothes that are nothing more but rags. The children were malnourished and had no shoes. When I asked if there had ever been clergy to help them, I was told that even those avoid them like the plague.”

Anatoly bows his head lightly in understanding. “The nameless villages are a relic of the past, one might think,” he says, “but they still exist.”

“How could this have escaped my attention, I ask you?” Victor rises from the armchair and runs his hands through his hair in desperation. “I am the king. The crown is who I am. How can I be a good and just king if I do not know what happens right under my nose? That these mistakes of the past have never been fixed?”

“You cannot know everything, your majesty,” Anatoly says, and Victor knows the man means well, but that is not the point.

“It is my duty to know everything, to achieve the impossible,” he says bitterly. “And these people out there, they are the proof that I have failed.”

He flops down into the armchair again and rubs his eyes.

“Do you think we can improve this world?” Victor asks quietly and opens his eyes, the flames in the fireplace dancing before him. “That the crown, in everything that it is, can actually do something good for people like these?” He swallows thickly. “There is nothing. No food. No doctor. Not even a school. How could ever become something of these children if there is not even education…”

Anatoly is quiet for a long moment. That is not unusual per se, for he always thinks before he speaks unlike many others. But for the first time, Victor realises as he turns his head to look at him, Anatoly seems personally affected.

“My father was a carpenter,” he says. “He did everything he could to send me, his eldest, to school. It was not easy because the fees were high. Even though the schools belonged to the clergy.”

Victor knows the history of his own country well, and how elitist it had once been – even more elitist than it is now, the aim of it to keep the rich separate from the poor, making social mobility almost impossible. Even education, which should be for all, had been accessible for a selected few only.

Although Victor has been able to make many changes already, education is still very much the sore spot. Anatoly, as a beta, was merely lucky. But for many omegas, education is still inaccessible, and the clergy fights the reforms vehemently.

“I’m sorry,” Victor says softly. He often forgets how old Anatoly actually is – old enough to remember such times. “I wish it had been different. I… I wish it already were different.”

Anatoly steps closer to him. “Your time will come, your majesty,” he says. “The ordinary people count on you. They know that you are not your father, and not your grandfather. The people in the nameless villages know it, too. That is why you are so loved. My grandchildren will be able to attend university, regardless of what they are or where they were born. Even if my children cannot do so yet.”

Anatoly leaves him after that, leaves him alone with his thoughts and with the shame, but it is what Victor needs.

He is only a man like many others.

There may be a crown on his head, but it does not change that he is a man of flesh and bone, a man with limitations. Not a god.

He is a man who tries his best, who _must_ try his best every single day because thousands of people depend on him. He cannot have his eyes everywhere. He depends on his ministers for that, must trust them and their words, in order to make the right decision.

But today has shown him that he cannot trust them as much as he thought.

For what other explanation is there to him not being aware of these issues, if not the fact that they do not want him to know?

He sits at the fireplace for a long time, not moving away, not saying a word.

A hand touches his shoulder, and the scent of roses fills his nose as Yuuri joins him again. Wordlessly, he reaches out, and Victor gives him his hand to hold. Yuuri cradles it, as if it were the most precious thing to him, brings it to his lips and kisses it, showering Victor in kindness of which the king is sure he does not deserve it. But Yuuri stays right there, at his side, and does not leave him.

* * *

The following day, Victor meets with Artemyev to arrange for food and cattle to be brought to the nameless village.

A monk of the monastery is sent to take care of the sick and elderly.

Everyone follows the king’s orders, but not without surprise and hesitation.

All the while, Yuuri stands by his side.

* * *

Snow surprises them overnight, leaving the castle and the estates in a thin blanket of white. Neither Victor nor Yuuri dare to believe their eyes upon first seeing it in the morning, for they all had thought winter to be over. But sometimes, a season refuses to give up just like that, once more presenting its full glory before making space for the next. It is the case with winter, it seems. A final fall of snow before Spring can finally come, and the sun is already beginning to melt the snow away.

But together with the snow also comes an unexpected visitor to Lyubna Castle, one that neither Victor nor Yuuri – nor anyone else, really – has expected.

Victor first reacts in annoyance as a servant comes running towards then in the castle’s garden, but as the poor man manages to get out that the Duchess has been seen at the gates, Victor no longer cares about being disturbed. He grasps his beloved’s hands, who looks at him with wide eyes, and takes him back to the castle and through the entrance hall and out again, just in time for the arrival of his aunt.

Lilia sits on the horse with her head held high, the proud woman that she is, and allows no assistance as she pulls the reins and slips from the saddle with elegance and grace that only she possesses. Not that anyone would have dared to cross her in any way. Everything people do around her they do out of formality, and because they know better than to anger the woman that is the closest to the king. The only family he has left.

“Dearest aunt,” Victor says and skips the last step on the stairs, holding out his hands and greeting her with a kiss to the cheek. “I did not know you were coming. How did you know I would be here?”

Lilia raises an eyebrow. “Did you think you could have a whole royal train ride past my estates and I would not notice?” She slaps him across the face, but only lightly, before her gaze falls onto Yuuri, who stands behind Victor and keeps a respectful distance. The omega shivers visibly beneath her gaze and he immediately curtsies before the duchess in greeting. 

Lilia looks him up and down. “So you are the reason my useless nephew neglects writing to me these days,” she says, and Victor is about to interfere when he sees her nod all of a sudden. “Good. It was about time.”

She glances at Victor. “Finally, one has caught your attention. It took you long enough.”

“Dearest aunt-“

“Don’t ‘dearest aunt’ me, Vitya,” Lilia cuts him off and clasps her hands before her as she looks Yuuri up and down again, who has now risen again and is meeting her gaze. Any other omega would have not been able to do so, Victor is sure, but Yuuri is doing it masterfully. “I have heard many things about you, Yuuri of the house Katsuki. I have had the pleasure of meeting your grandmother at my brother’s coronation. I have always admired the Katsuki family for their impeccable manners.”

Yuuri bows his head. “Thank you, your grace.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, aunt?” Victor asks her, interrupting them at a point where he thinks it will not offend.

“All in due time,” Lilia tells him lightly. “But right now, I am sweating like a whore in church and I smell like an Arab stallion. You must tell me about Hasetsu after I am done with my bath, Yuuri.”

“You are staying?” Victor calls after her in confusion, but the duchess has already disappeared into the building.

There is little that seems to bring more chaos to Lyubna than the sudden arrival of the duchess, who has spent many summers within its walls, watching over the prince in his mother’s stead, and therefore knows Lyubna and its servants very well. Her arrival causes the servants to almost despair, for they know how the duchess likes things to be done, and that her ways tend to differ vastly from the king’s. Victor lets them change what they think is necessary, not wanting to start a fight with Lilia over how dinner is served or which fireplaces burn.

Not when Yuuri is around.

Victor can see how nervous his beloved is all of a sudden, not having faced anyone else beside him and the servants until now. And Lilia, of course, is an entirely different matter. She is the king’s aunt, sister of Victor’s father, and mother to the current heir to the throne, for Victor is childless. It is well-known that Lilia has a lot of influence on the king, and Victor knows it, too, but he has made up his mind. If Lilia has come to make him send Yuuri away, he will not follow her advice.

But something tells him that this is not why Lilia has come.

The exact reason, however, she has not yet told him.

She has taken the room in the west wing for herself again, the room she had always stayed at in the past, and the servants have promptly drawn her a bath. Now, refreshed and dressed in a tight, warm gown, she sits at the head of the table in the dining hall, on the very seat that would be usually Victor’s, but no one dares to comment – especially not Victor, who honestly could not care less about the seating order.

His only sorrow is that he cannot reach easily for Yuuri now, who sits opposite to him to Lilia’s left and tells her about Hasetsu. None of it is new to Victor, who has heard it all the first few nights he has spent with Yuuri, but he listens attentively nonetheless – for there is no greater joy than to hear Yuuri speak about the home that he loves and surely misses. His eyes shine in delight when he speaks of his mother and father and sister, of the dances that take place in spring every year.

All of it fascinates Victor anew, even if Lilia’s expression stays mostly neutral. But much to his relief, she is more than just polite with Yuuri and engages in friendly conversation about this and that, all the while ignoring Victor as if her nephew were not even there. Not that Victor minds.

After dinner, Yuuri excuses himself to go and look after Vicchan and Makkachin, and leaves aunt and nephew alone for the first time.

“He is a kind young man,” Lilia comments once Yuuri is gone. “And he holds himself well. His gown is of the finest quality. Made by your very own tailor, I assume.”

“You assume correctly,” Victor says. “He did not have any suitable wardrobe for Lyubna.”

“And from what I have heard, you have also gifted him a fine-bred horse, a dog, and many more things. Will I soon see him wear the crown jewels?”

Victor sighs. “Aunt Lilia…”

“You are not the type to shower people in expensive gifts unless they are very dear to you,” she says and reaches for the wine. “So is he very dear to you?”

“I…” Victor swallows thickly, not sure what he has expected of his aunt, but certainly not that. “Yes. Yuuri is the most dear to me, aunt Lilia. In a way that I cannot possibly describe.”

His aunt looks at him thoughtfully for an incredibly long moment, as if analysing every last bit of him to detect a lie, a fault, anything to criticise or to use as a reason to reprimand him. But those words never come.

“At least, you are not the same fool as your father,” she says eventually and takes a sip from the wine. “Whenever he had a new lover, he would tell me that she was the one, and would shower them in expensive gifts without end, only to realise after a few weeks that they were betraying him. Truth be told, none of them were ever an omega of the high houses. Unlike yours.”

“My father did not know what love is,” Victor mutters and reaches for his own wine. “I am sure he would tell me off and tell me to get a wife, to forget about Yuuri altogether.”

“Maybe,” Lilia agrees, “but your father is dead and cannot tell you what you should do with your life.”

“But you could.”

“Indeed, but what use would that have.” She shakes her head lightly. “So what do you intend to do, Victor? About this omega that is the most dear to you?”

Victor lowers his gaze and stares into his cup, the light of the candles reflecting in the red liquid.

“Thirty days are almost over,” he says, more to himself than to Lilia. “After that, I do not know.”

It is a question that has plagued him for days now, and he has always pushed it aside, had wanted to live in the moment. But of course, he has to come to a decision – or at least make an attempt. As far as he knows, never before has an omega of a high house stayed for longer than thirty days. No, they have all been sent home. And then, there is the infamous case of his great-grandfather that had wanted to marry one of them but had not been allowed to by the clergy.

And the clergy, Victor knows, is the very foundation of his throne until he has an heir.

So there is that.

“Whatever you do,” Lilia says with surprising gentleness and reaches out to touch his hand, “think carefully about it and do not disregard your heart. For that was your father’s gravest mistake, and look how it ended.”

Victor meets his aunt’s gaze. “I fear that I don’t know what you mean.”

She smiles softly. “There is a lot that you do not know. But all in due time, my dear Vitya. All in due time.”

* * *

Lilia leaves the following morning after breakfast, but not before taking Yuuri by the hand and telling him in plain words that she hopes to see him again soon. She also reprimands Victor for not writing to her, to which he promises he will better himself.

And then, she is gone, and Victor is left alone with a dilemma that he does not know how to solve.

Their dogs, of course, know little of it – for they bark and run around by the shore of the lake with all the carefreeness in the world that only dogs possess. They are to be envied; Victor thinks not for the first time. For what has a dog to worry about except for which human to greet first or which stick to pick. He shares this thought with Yuuri, who walks on his arm, and it makes the omega laugh heartily.

It must be the most beautiful sound known to man.

Victor steals a kiss from his lips, first one, then two, then so many that they lose count, and can only be pulled apart by Vicchan jumping up at Yuuri’s knee to demand his attention. Yuuri picks up the puppy and holds him close, cuddling and kissing him with an apologetic glance at Victor, who merely chuckles and keeps walking.

If one could only forever stay at Lyubna.

Surely, it would be a wonderful place to raise children. The castle with its vast estates, the gardens and the woods nearby, a monastery with learned monks. Not too far away from the capital, but the distance great enough to keep the illusion of another world.

What bliss it would be, Victor thinks, all the while knowing that he cannot have this dream.

Eventually, Yuuri puts Vicchan down again and the puppy runs off, joining Makkachin by the shore, where she has just found a brand-new stick to chew on. Victor holds out his arm for Yuuri, who takes it without hesitation, and they walk together in blissful silence.

“Are you cold, my sweet?” Victor asks after a while.

Yuuri shakes his head. “No, Mylord,” he says, although his cheeks are red from the cool air. But his coat keeps him warm, and so do his gloves and the cap that he wears, making him appear truly royal. “Are you?”

“How could I,” Victor replies, “with such lovely, heart-warming company?”

Yuuri blushes, his face turning even a darker shade of red, and Victor kisses him, feels the warmth of his lips.

“We have had joyful days here, you and I,” he says softly, “and important ones, too. Would you not agree?”

“Indeed,” Yuuri nods. “I only wish that we could preserve these days. In a bottle, perhaps. So that whenever we open it, moments like this one would come back to us, for us to relive them anew.”

Victor looks at him in interest, which Yuuri most likely interprets as confusion, for he averts his gaze in an instant. “It does sound silly, does it not.”

Victor shakes his head. “No. Not at all. You have merely put into words what I have felt since the day I first met you. I wish that we could preserve every moment, every second…”

He looks away, out to the lake, the waters barely moving in what is a calm day. But unlike the lake, Victor’s heart feels anything but calm. It aches, the dull pain intensifying every time he looks at Yuuri, every time the omega’s eyes meet his own and look right into his soul.

“Mylord?”

Yuuri’s voice is an even stronger force, particularly when they are surrounded only by silence. The sound of it is like music that lures Victor in, that holds him in its firm grasp and sings to him and never lets him go.

“Forgive me,” Victor says quietly. “I… I am only trying to find words for what I wish to say.”

They stop walking, and Victor takes Yuuri by his hands, bringing them both to his lips to press a tender kiss to his knuckles. Yuuri’s breath hitches in his throat, but he remains silent, waiting patiently for the king to speak.

“In these last few weeks, I have felt more alive than I have in recent years. It was as if my mind would awaken, as if my spirit would rejoice, every time I got to see you, and touch you, and hold you in my arms.”

The words feel heavy, none of them seeming appropriate, none of them carrying the meaning of what Victor feels, his emotions impossible to put into comprehensible sentences.

“And I fear that… if we were to part again… the connection that I feel to you, that the… the tender bond that has developed between your heart and mine should be destroyed, to never ever be mended again.” Victor swallows thickly. “I fear I would not be able to bear it.”

“Mylord,” Yuuri breathes with wide eyes, but no more words come over his lips, as if stunned into silence.

“And I live in a world so most complicated,” Victor says and his voice breaks, “that not even a king could find happiness in it. But I firmly believe that there might be happiness, even if only a little piece of it, if you were the one to own my heart.”

There are tears in Yuuri’s eyes, tears that Victor longs to kiss away. But he knows that he must speak now, speak for as long as his heart lets him.

“And I do not know what to do, my sweet,” he breathes, and holds Yuuri’s hands tighter, “I do not know what else to do than to offer you what I can. And I can only ask you, no, only beg you, to allow me to have you by my side. If I were an ordinary man with an ordinary life, it would only take us a day to be wedded. But none of this is possible to me – and it pains me, it pains me so. For what else can I offer you, what else can I ask of you, than for you to possess my heart?”

“Victor”, Yuuri breathes and the tears roll down his cheeks; first one, then two, and he grasps the king’s hands so tightly as if they were a representation of his heart, beating along to the king’s, overflowing with the same kind of affection, the same kind of love.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers and steps impossibly close to him, their foreheads touching as their breaths mingle in the cold air. “I beg you to become my maîtresse en titre. Stay at my side as the one that I love.”

“Oh, Victor,” Yuuri whispers and kisses him, kisses him with all the love and passion that is only meant for the king, that no other man shall ever have from him. Victor cups his cheek, returning the kiss with equal fervour and despair.

“My Yuuri,” he breathes between kisses. “Say that you will stay by my side. Say that you will be mine.”

“I will be yours, your majesty,” Yuuri gasps and wraps his arms around the king’s neck as he kisses him. “I shall always be your most loyal servant, your devoted maîtresse…”

Victor holds him close, holds him so tight that he fears that he might crush him, but Yuuri never pulls away. He is there, in the safety of his arms, kissing him over and over again until they must break apart to breathe. And even then, they do not let go, find themselves unable to.

“Every day you allow me to have with you is the most precious of gifts,” Victor whispers. “But I cannot help but feel guilty, for I am keeping you from your loved ones. How could I ever justify such a cruel deed?”

But Yuuri shakes his head and cups the king’s cheeks, demanding his attention, naturally, as if the king has always been his.

“In my family,” he whispers, “we believe that there is no greater honour than to serve our good and gracious king.” He presses a tender kiss to Victor’s lips. “What could be a greater and more devoted servitude than to give you my heart?”

Victor swallows thickly, not daring to be hopeful, still. “You do not think they will mind?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Not if it is what my heart most desires.”

More does Victor not need to know.

“But still,” he says, and his thumb brushes along Yuuri’s cheekbone, “if I were to have your family’s blessing to keep you with me, I would be relieved of a heavy burden.”

“Then I shall write to them,” Yuuri whispers, turning his head ever so slightly to kiss the king’s palm. “So that they know that my heart is with you.”

Fate, Victor thinks as he leans in to kiss him, is truly a fascinating thing.

It is something he has never believed him, has never dared to hope for or to trust in – for fate is fickle, and no one could ever be able to grasp it. But it must be fate that has brought Yuuri to him, at this very moment in his life where he has felt lost and alone. Fate is what holds them together, what makes Yuuri moan softly against his lips, what allows Victor to hold him close and feel his warmth, and what grants them this moment of blissful solitude.

From afar, a dog barks, and they must pull apart.

In the distance, Victor sees a man walking towards them. He recognises him immediately by his posture and step, all of it belonging to his closest friend. Chris is walking towards them swiftly, does not even pause for Makkachin, who knows him and would like to demand a scratch. That alone tells Victor that it must be urgent, that something has happened, and he holds Yuuri close as Chris approaches them and bows his head in greeting.

“Your majesty,” he says, out of breath. “Forgive me for intruding.”

“Drop the formalities, Chris,” Victor says. “What brings you here all of a sudden, my friend? Are you alright?”

Chris clears his throat and glances at Yuuri for a moment. “Perhaps we should discuss this in private, Victor.”

“You might as well say it right now, in front of my maîtresse,” Victor says and watches as Chris’ eyes widen, ever so slightly as realisation sinks in about what Yuuri now is to the king. But it only lasts for merely a second.

“There has been a revolt at the southern harbour,” he says. “About a dozen ships have been seized by the rebels.”

And just like that, Victor realises in sorrow, their time at Lyubna has come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As there was some confusion coming up in the comments, let me explain.
> 
> Victor cannot marry Yuuri at this point. He has no children, and therefore, his claim to the throne largely depends on being on good terms with the clergy. The clergy declared during his great-grandfather's reign that none of the omegas that are sent to the king and that the king sleeps with can be wedded by him. Hence, this is now religious law. So Victor made Yuuri his official mistress (maîtresse en titre just being a term that I like). 
> 
> But all of this, and what comes of it, will be explained in the upcoming chapters.  
> Again, there is no purity thing going on in terms of who can be consort of the king. It's a stupid law that is keeping them from marrying, a law that will play an important role in the upcoming chapters. 
> 
> I will not say more, in order to avoid spoilers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting out of hand, so I decided to post what I have now. 
> 
> I have shamelessly taken the overall look of the king's speech from the Austrian musical "Rudolf". 
> 
> Have fun!

Yuuri wakes in chambers that feel far too sumptuous to be his own.

And yet, everything in this room, and in the next, and in the one after that, now belongs to him. Victor has said so, right when he had taken Yuuri here for the first time and had seen his eyes widen in shock. It feels surreal, and Yuuri knows that he is unworthy.

He has tried to tell the king that, but Victor would not have any of it.

“You are my official mistress now,” he had whispered into Yuuri’s ear, “and that means that only the best is good enough for you.”

Yuuri begs to differ, but he would never question what the king decides. For being the official mistress – or maîtresse en titre, as people call the position at court – of the king is a royal matter through and through.

Loving Victor, on the other hand, is an absolutely and thoroughly private delight.

There is a clear distinction between the king, who gives orders and commands, and Victor, who is gentle and kind and keeps his true nature private. Only a selected few ever get to see him how he truly is, and Yuuri feels honoured to be now one of them. He knows the transformation both ways – Victor putting on a mask to turn into the king, and the king becoming Victor the moment the door falls shut behind him. It is a fascinating transformation – yet, at the same time, it makes Yuuri feel utterly sad.

No one should have to live a lie for such a great part of one’s life.

But Victor has turned back into the king the moment they have returned from Lyubna to the palace of Petersburg. The moment their carriage drove through the gates, Victor’s entire posture had changed, and he seemed to even have become a little bit taller. Naturally, his councillors and ministers had been eagerly awaiting him already, but Victor had still taken the time to bring Yuuri to his new chambers, to his new home.

Then, he had left him alone.

Yuuri could never be angry with him for doing so, of course. The current crisis had demanded Victor’s attention, and he, only the king’s mistress, had had to be patient.

Victor had made up to him a few nights later, having him with such passion and fervour that Yuuri felt it in his lower body the next day. And Victor has been like this to him every single night since then, leaving absolutely no reason for Yuuri to complain about a lack of lust or affection.

In that regard, the king treats him exceptionally well.

He turns his head and finds the other side of the bed empty and cold, much to his sorrow. Victor has left early, messengers from all over the country awaiting him and his advisors. But before leaving, he had pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s lips, a gesture of love and reassurance before he had gone to face the day. Yuuri had slept some more, but of course, he cannot stay in bed forever.

Even if the thought to do so is rather tempting.

Instead, he sighs and stretches as he rolls over to lie on his back again. It is a rather grey morning, he realises as he glances towards the large windows with the heavy curtains that keep out most of the light. Only one of them has been pulled back, probably by Victor, revealing to Yuuri now that it is raining outside. It is not unusual weather for this time of the year, especially not for Petersburg, but Yuuri misses the snow of Hasetsu in this season.

The bed is warm, and Yuuri does not really want to leave it, but at least there is a fire in the fireplace. It looks newly made, and Yuuri suspects that Victor has let a servant in to make sure the room would be warm for when Yuuri woke. Perhaps it was Guang Hong, the young omega that Victor has chosen to be Yuuri’s servant, in a similar station like Anatoly. Yuuri likes Guang Hong, for he is gentle, soft-spoken and kind, and not the kind to gossip. Furthermore, Vicchan and Makkachin like him, and it is always best to trust a dog’s fine judgement.

Said dogs are next door in what is Yuuri’s sitting room, and once they hear that he is awake, they will undoubtedly scratch at the door and demand to be let in to receive cuddles and affection.

Slowly, Yuuri slips out of bed and puts on the dressing gown that he has left over the back of a chair, every step reminding him of the places where Victor has grabbed him and held him in place the night before. There will surely be some bruises on his hips very soon, Yuuri thinks as he walks barefoot to the window and pulls back the other curtain to look outside. The sky is indeed grey, and the rain is gently hitting the glass of the window. It will be a day spent indoors once again, a day to prove his patience. Victor has promised to take him down to the gardens once the weather becomes better, but at the moment, all they can do is wait.

Yuuri sighs and walks over to the dressing table where he has left his slippers – a beautiful pair made of white silk that was made in Hasetsu. Yuuri would recognise the quality anywhere, and he had been rather pleased to discover that the silk was also appreciated in Petersburg. At the dressing table, he also picks up the letter he has left there and returns with it to the bed. There, he takes off his slippers again and slips back under the warm covers, leaning back against the headboard to read his mother’s words once more.

_My dear Yuuri,_

_When a mother receives a letter from her child, her heart always aches, for it could mean so many things. Even more so when her child is far away, and she cannot be there for help and guidance. But upon reading your letter, my heart broke even more, for I could feel how genuine your words were, and how pure your feelings for our good and gracious king. And yet, you asked me, and your father, to forgive you for not coming back to us. I fear that we cannot do that._

_For how could we forgive you, if there is nothing to forgive at all?_

_Love often comes to us in the most impossible of ways, my dear Yuuri. But whenever it comes, it is a blessing, one that we must never take for granted. To love the king, and to be loved by him in return, is the most extraordinary of gifts. At the same time, it is a gift that you must hold close to your heart, that you must cherish and protect in order to keep it. To be loved by the king is not like being loved by any other man, and so is loving him in return. It will come with many joys, but also with many sacrifices. It means to give yourself to him completely in body and spirit, to be devoted to him and love him with all your heart._

_These are things you must always remember, my dear Yuuri, for they are essential to your happiness._

_The court is a dangerous place for a young man like you that knows so very little of the world, and even less of the people in it. There will be many that will try to flatter you, to tempt you, and to change you. But you must know, my dear Yuuri, that it is of greatest importance that you always remember who you are. Do not lose yourself in the passions of courtly life, and do not, not even for a second, disregard the voice of your heart._

_If you understand all this, my dearest child, then I have no doubt that you will find happiness with our good and gracious king, whose love is the greatest honour you could possibly receive._

_Therefore, treat it well._

_You have always made us exceptionally proud, and your father and I have no doubt that you will continue to do so._

_With love,_

_Your mother._

The day the letter had arrived, Yuuri had opened it with shaking hands.

Now, he clings to every word, every single one of it understanding, reassurance, and guidance. He had been worried, incredibly worried, that his parents might perhaps not understand, or that they would not believe that his feelings for the king are genuine.

His worries now prove to be unnecessary.

Of course, Yuuri is certain that his decision must have taken his family by surprise, but to know that they support him means the world to him. Even if they most likely do not understand him.

He takes a bath after leaving the bed for good, sinking deep into the tub and hiding his face behind the foam. It cannot be compared to Hasetsu with its hot springs, but it is a nice way to begin the day when it is cold and rainy outside, and there is nothing else to do than to spend the day in laziness.

It is dreadfully dull.

After the bath, Yuuri dresses and eats breakfast with Makkachin and Vicchan as company, both dogs begging for treats and receiving plenty of them, as Yuuri does not have the heart to tell them no. He would have very much preferred to have breakfast with Victor, only the two of them in each other’s blissful company like at Lyubna, but the current situation does not allow them. And so, Yuuri eats on his own, playing with the dogs. Only as he finishes, Guang Hong comes to disturb him, apologising for the intrusion before he tells Yuuri why he has come.

“The Duchess is here to see you, your grace.”

A cold shiver runs down Yuuri’s spine. Not out of fear, but out of respect. After all, he already knows the Duchess, knows how close she is to Victor, and how great her influence, and how generous she is with her kindness – even towards someone like him.

But now, he is the king’s official mistress.

How she will view it, Yuuri cannot tell.

He briefly checks his appearance in the mirror before he goes to the door leading to the sitting room, taking a deep breath before he even touches the handle. He wishes he could run away, but only for a second.

Duchess Lilia is just as imposing and impressive as the day he first met her at Lyubna, Yuuri thinks as he steps into the room, holding herself with the grace that only high nobility is ever born with. Her attire is impeccable, declaring her position to everyone whilst expressing subtle modesty as she stands before him with her hands clasped in front as she studies him attentively.

“Your royal highness,” Yuuri says softly and curtsies before her.

Lilia is still studying him, taking in his appearance that is, thankfully, simple enough and not expressing any sort of extravagance.

“I received a letter two days ago,” she says, “from my nephew. He informed me that he had taken an official mistress. I was pleased to learn that it is you. So there truly is no need to tremble before me, child.” Her gaze softens ever so slightly. “I have not come to eat you up.”

She gestures at the sofas and armchairs by the window as if the place were hers. “Let us sit.”

Yuuri does as he is told, sitting down on the sofa opposite to the armchair that Lilia chooses, and the servants seem to come out of nowhere to bring them something to drink. Tea, Yuuri realises, the terribly sweet kind that the people at the palace prefer and that he has despised from the very beginning.

He takes the cup wordlessly into his hands.

“Have you settled in thus far?” Lilia asks.

“I have, your grace,” Yuuri replies.

“The palace must be rather intimidating for you,” she says, “as the north is very different from Petersburg. I take it that you have written to your family and explained the situation to them. May I ask, how did they react?”

Yuuri thinks back to the letter that he has left in the bedroom. “My family supports my decision wholeheartedly,” he tells Lilia. “I am very grateful.”

“If your mother and father are anything like your late grandmother, whom I had the pleasure to meet as you know, then I have no doubt that they do indeed support your decision.” Lilia eyes him carefully. “Not many parents would believe that their child’s feelings for the king were genuine. One might be tempted to suspect certain intentions.”

Yuuri shivers at her words and grips the cup tighter. “Your grace…”

“But then again,” Lilia interrupts him as if he had not said anything at all, “my nephew speaks only highly of you. And he is no fool. He would not fall for someone merely because of a pretty face. What intrigues him is wit. Intelligence. Yes, even humour. Therefore, I think he would have seen right through you from the very beginning, had you been trying to seduce him for your own purposes only. As I said. I am not here to eat you up.”

She takes a sip from her tea and Yuuri feels a cold shiver running down his spine at her plain and honest words.

“That does not mean that I will not keep a close eye on you, Yuuri of Hasetsu,” Lilia adds. “Do you fear that the tea is poisoned, or why are you not drinking it?”

Yuuri blinks, looking down at the delicate cup in his hands.

“Ah, I forgot,” Lilia says and calls for a servant. “Green tea is what you drink in the north. You shall have a cup of that, then.”

“It’s fine-“ Yuuri attempts to say, but the servants have already come to take the other tea away.

“You must find your voice if you wish to survive at this place,” Lilia says as the door closes behind the servants again. “And it might begin with something as simple as starting to ask for the tea that you like.”

She puts her own cup down again and then lets her gaze wander, taking in the beautiful tapestry, the furniture, the paintings, the carpets.

“I do not know if my useless nephew has told you,” Lilia says, “but these chambers are the traditional rooms of the official royal mistress.”

“He has, your grace,” Yuuri replies, and indeed, Victor had told him so right away. Quite proudly.

“I have seen many come to and leave these chambers over the course of many years,” Lilia says bluntly. “Not during Victor’s reign, but during my brother’s. He had a weakness for everything pretty, things and people alike. All of them came into these rooms believing themselves to be a goddess amongst humans. And then, after some time, they reached for things far above their station, burnt their wings like Icarus, and fell. To be never seen again.”

The door opens again and the servants return, this time with a pot of freshly brewed green tea. The moment they pour it into the cup, Yuuri can see and smell that they did not know how to prepare it correctly. And indeed, the moment he tastes the tea with his tongue, he tastes the slight bitterness.

“As the king’s official mistress,” Lilia says, “you are in a most peculiar position. Not a consort, but also not a concubine. Not a courtier, but also not a servant. Thus, it is of utter importance that you remember _what_ you are, child. And what your purpose is as the king’s maîtresse en titre.”

“Your grace,” Yuuri begins softly and puts the teacup down on the table between them. “I do not have any political ambitions, nor do I seek attention or rewards for myself or my family.”

Lilia raises an eyebrow. “I have heard those very same words many times, I’m afraid,” she says. “From men and women of much higher and much lower standing than yours. All of them turned out to fall victim to vanity and political intrigue, especially those that had the position that is now occupied by you. But I also think that my late brother had less insight to human nature as my nephew, and that all of his choices were terrible ones. I do not think that Victor has chosen badly. But I do think that you are not aware of the nest of serpents that the court of Petersburg is.”

Yuuri has to admit that she is right – he knows very little about the capital, let alone about the palace and the people that live there. Courtiers are known to be ambitious and nosy, but Yuuri has never really met any of them. Not that he has mingled with the people here so far.

The king most likely would not approve of it.

“People older and wiser than you have fallen victim to this nest of serpents,” Lilia says, “but it seems to attract those that are made maîtresse en titre like a lantern attracts flies. Those that came before you found it rather tempting to mess with issues that were none of their concern and forgot who they were. What they had been chosen for.” She looks at Yuuri, carefully studies him, as if to determine what tone to choose for what she wishes to say next. “The position of the official mistress is not one of political power. That is what you must remember, at all times. First and foremost, you are the one that the king has chosen for his bed. As simple as that. I am sorry if that destroys any romantic notions you might be clinging to.”

“I know what my position means,” Yuuri says and meets her gaze.

“That may be,” Lilia says, “but are you fully aware of the extent of it? Being his official mistress means that your chances of ever marrying the king are slim to none. Your only purpose is to give yourself to the king in both body and spirit. To take care of him, to be devoted to him. To bear him children, should he wish so. And above all, to love him.” Her gaze softens a little. “This is an incredibly hard task for most. To love without hesitation.”

Yuuri cannot help but chuckle at her words, causing Lilia to raise an eyebrow in slight confusion.

“Forgive me,” Yuuri says softly and looks up again. “But your words mirror those of my mother. She gave me the very same advice in her letter.”

Lilia nods. “And what do you make of it, then?”

Yuuri gets up and excuses himself for a brief moment, going back to the bedroom to fetch the letter he has left on his bedtable. Lilia is looking at him in anticipation as he returns and sits down again with the letter now in his hands, the paper showing how often it has been read already.

“My mother said that I must not lose myself in the passions of courtly life,” he says, searching for his mother’s exact words on the letter. “And I intend to follow her advice. I know it does sound unbelievable, especially from someone as young as I who might have high ambitions, but…” He closes his eyes for a moment before he continues. “I have never once thought to ask anything of his majesty, never dared to demand anything of his majesty from the moment I first laid eyes on him. Not courtly life, not political gain, none of that. I just wanted… I wanted to be with him, and when he began to favour me…” Yuuri falls silent for a moment, all of it still too great to comprehend. “I did not even dare to hope for any of this.” He gestures at their surroundings. “Titles and jewels mean nothing to me.”

“And yet, the king will shower you in them,” Lilia concludes softly.

“I cannot change what the king decides to do with me, or for me,” Yuuri says, “but I will accept it all with deepest gratitude.”

Just in that moment, Vicchan pushes through the door that the servants have not properly closed, whining as he walks towards Yuuri and attempts to jump on his lap. But of course, he is too little, and Yuuri has to lift him up, and soothes the excited dog with a few loving pats and cuddles.

“At least you share his love for dogs,” Lilia comments with a small smile. “My late brother was also very fond of them. Victor inherited that from him. What is his name?”

Yuuri blushes. “V-Vicchan, your grace,” he says, and hopes the Duchess won’t notice the meaning.

But she smiles knowingly. “How befitting. My brother had a dog that looked angry all the time. He named it after my husband.” She chuckles to herself at that and reaches for her tea again, refilling the cup and taking a small sip. “You have not been introduced to the court yet, I presume?”

Yuuri shakes his head, keeping Vicchan close as the puppy curls up on his lap. “No, your grace.”

“Of course you have not. With the king being busy these days, he has far more pressing matters on his mind. However, I am sure you are aware of the peace festivities that will take place in two weeks’ time?”

Yuuri knows, of course, what the annual peace festivities mean – they celebrate the end of the great war that took place generations ago, praising the union of all provinces and high houses. In Hasetsu, they had always celebrated them with dances and parades in the streets.

Perhaps it was different here, in Petersburg.

“I am,” he assures Lilia. “But I do not know how it is celebrated here.”

“There will be parades in the city,” Lilia says, “and the king will show himself to his people to announce the beginning of the festivities. Here at the palace, there will be a feast with music and dance. Important representatives will be present. Members of the high houses. Politicians, ambassadors, and the like. You will attend as well, joining the court in your position as the king’s official mistress. And for that, there is one thing that is essential for you to master beforehand.”

She places her teacup on the table again and clasps her hands on her lap, studying him attentively and sending shivers down the omega’s spine, who wonders what it is that he must prove in order to not bring shame to his family or to the king.

“Tell me, Yuuri. Can you dance?”

* * *

About a dozen ships rest on the bottom of the sea.

On the map before them, small wooden ships mark the spot where they have sunken, destroyed by the royal armada. It is not the first time in the history of the kingdom that the royal armada has attacked and sunken other ships that sail in the name of the crown. But it is the first time that it has happened during Victor’s reign, and that alone already pains him. Of course, it is not just that – the fact that the rebels have used the revolt at the southern harbour to seize ships that sail in the name of the crown is unacceptable.

One of Victor’s advisors stands beside the map and explains the latest moves of the royal armada. His voice is loud, harsh, almost stereotypical for the position of the war minister who has seen and lived on the battlefield. Unlike Victor, who has received a military training but never actually had to fight in a war. He considers himself lucky, but also knows that this could change any day.

Especially with the ongoing revolts and the rebels in the south.

Truth be told, the south has always been rather worrying to the crown, ever since the Great War had ended. Victor has studied the past, has consulted teachers, historians, and scribes, and has come to the conclusion that his forefathers had shown incredible incompetence by clearly favouring some provinces over others. The south had been on the more unfortunate side, losing economic and cultural advantages and the favour of the crown. It had taken almost two generations for the south to recover, and even if things were better now, they were not ideal yet.

And there were people, of course, that had never forgotten the injustice they had suffered in the name of the crown.

Victor knows that he, as a person, is not under attack here – but the crown on his head very much is.

For most people, there is no difference anyway.

The councillors in this room are no exception. Victor has always known that, from the very first time he had been allowed to join a council meeting. He had been eleven years old, and the chair had been far too big for him, and the conversations too complicated. No one there had treated him as a boy, though. He had been the future king in their eyes at all times. Nothing more, nothing less.

It is still like that today. He is the king to them, not a man, not an individual.

They do not understand that he would rather be somewhere else, in someone else’s company.

But all of this has to wait.

Yuuri has to wait.

“Your majesty?”

“I’m listening,” Victor says and pushes a ship across the map. “Two more of these on patrol along the southern coast.”

“We have to withdraw them from the armada,” the war minister says. “Are you sure, your majesty?”

“I am,” Victor says and grabs two more ships, placing them on the other end of the map, in the northern sea, right above Hasetsu. “And two in the north, too.”

The war minister hesitates. “In the north, your majesty?”

“Yes.” Victor looks up. “Is there a problem?”

“There have been no attacks in the north,” he hears his uncle say, Yakov’s voice rough and gentle at the same time. “Why would we send two ships of the armada there?”

“The north is just as important for trade as the south,” Victor says, thinking of what Yuuri has told him a while ago. “If there is one thing that the rebels want, then it is unrest. We won’t send the armada there. Smaller ships, but as armed as the armada. They will protect the north and function as a warning to the rebels. I am sure we can afford that.”

He glances at the war minister, who accepts the order without another word.

“We are still interrogating the rebels we captured,” another councillor says, “but there is nothing new. Most of them know very little of the greater picture. Some of the others, however, seem rather determined to not speak at all.”

“Keep interrogating them,” Victor says, “but remind our representatives that the old methods are still not permitted.”

The councillors exchange a few looks.

“Your majesty,” the war minister begins, “the old ways might perhaps loosen their tongues.”

“The old ways are exactly what they are called,” Victor reminds him firmly. “The old ways. I do not permit the methods of my father and grandfather to be used to such extent.”

“These people are enemies of the crown, your majesty,” another councillor says. “They—”

“They are people, not animals,” Victor reminds him. “We must decide very carefully when to use which methods, and not torture without reason like some of the kings that came before me.”

He reaches for the cup of wine he has left on the desk behind him and takes a sip.

“I hope that is understood,” he says and looks every councillor in the eye. He looks at the war minister the longest.

“Yes, your majesty,” they all say, and they move on to the next issue.

The morning feels painfully long after that.

The vast majority of what the councillors present to him seems rather unimportant to the king, smaller issues that would not need his attention, unlike other things. But even the smallest pieces make up a strong and unbreakable chain and need to be taken care of by those in power.

Other things, it seems, are often forgotten.

“One more thing,” Victor says sometime in the early afternoon, as his councillors are finally collecting their many maps and papers and get ready to leave. “I demand a list of all nameless villages to be made and presented to me.”

The minister of internal affairs looks at him in surprise. “A list of all nameless villages, your majesty?”

“Yes,” Victor says. “A list of all nameless villages, in all provinces, with details about their current condition and number of inhabitants. How long would it take to complete such a list?”

The minister exchanges a confused look with one of the scribes. “A-About a month, your majesty, at the very least. We must go through all old archives and consult the historians for a detailed list of these places.”

“You have six weeks, then,” Victor decides. “Employ all the scribes that you need for the task to be done sufficiently.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the minister says and bows deeply, just like the rest of them as the meeting finally comes to an end. Victor nods and walks away from the table, back to the window to get some fresh air. At that sign, the councillors, scribes, and ministers leave – all of them, except for Yakov, who stays behind and is silent until the door has fallen shut behind them. That in itself is not unusual. Yakov often stays behind to discuss various matters with the king. After all, he is Victor’s uncle, and has been like a father to him ever since.

“The nameless villages?” Yakov asks. “What is this about all of a sudden?”

Victor does not reply immediately, looking out of the window and over the city instead. He has always enjoyed this particular view of Petersburg that shows the capital in all its glory, the size of it impossible to comprehend. It is home to people of so many cultures and religions, all of them living together in harmony most of the time. But despite the fact Petersburg is so very close, the crown often tends to forget about it – it had been the mistake of Victor’s great-great-grandfather, who had then faced a revolt right outside his own palace. Those after him had worked hard to not make that mistake, and Victor is no exception. He takes good care of Petersburg, and the people love him in return.

Of all people in the realm, those of Petersburg appear to be the most loyal.

“I have decided to put an end to the era of nameless villages,” he says as he finally turns around. “They have made atonement for their sins and crimes for long enough. It is time to bring them back within reach of the crown, under our protection and with our support. From traitors to loyal subjects again.”

Yakov eyes him cautiously for a long moment, and Victor already knows that his uncle does anything but approve of his decision. He grabs the back of a chair with both hands, as if to brace himself for what the king might say next.

“And why now?” He asks.

Victor walks back to the table and picks up his cup of wine, walking over to the desk that awaits him on the other side of the room. “We came across one of these nameless villages near Lyubna, and what we saw disturbed us deeply.”

“We?” Yakov follows him to the desk, but does not sit down on the chair that Victor immediately offers him.

“My maîtresse and I,” Victor says as he sits down and clasps his hands on top of the smooth, wooden surface. “You should have been there, uncle. It was horrible. Houses barely more than huts. The children, running around in clothes that were nothing but rags, with no shoes on their feet. Men, women, and children, scarred by disease as a result of poverty and filth.” He can still see it clearly before him, as if it had been only yesterday. “They have been forgotten by the crown for too long.”

Yakov shifts from one foot to the next and clears his throat. “That may be,” he says, “but such things are usually approached in a different manner. The clergy-“

“The clergy has done absolutely nothing for these people, Yakov,” Victor interrupts him firmly. “The monastery is, as I found out, by law not permitted to help. The rest of the clergy avoids these places like the plague, and if they deign to pay them a visit, then they attempt to take advantage of the women. So no, I do not think that I should go with this to the clergy first. The nameless villages are based on a royal decree, and therefore, it is my responsibility alone.”

Yakov looks grim, but he does not protest, which tells Victor that his uncle at least understands – even if he does not agree. Just like Victor, he is not too fond of the clergy, and thinks that they hold too much power. Power that should lie in the hands of the king alone. But as Victor has no consort, no children, no heirs to secure his position, he needs them.

“They will not be pleased to hear that they won’t be asked about the nameless villages,” Yakov remarks. “It will be a bitter pill to swallow.”

“Of which you approve, uncle.”

Yakov snorts. “They need to be cut down to size every now and then,” he says and finally sits down. “Their arrogance knows no limits.”

“Oh, have you had a visit by aunt Lilia’s confessor again?” Victor chuckles, and Yakov shoots him a look.

“She was here, you know,” he says. “This morning. To speak with that mistress of yours.”

“Yes, I thought so,” Victor says and pours his uncle a cup of wine. Really, where are his manners? “She approves of him, I believe.”

“And so do you?” Yakov asks, not touching the wine.

“Yes, of course,” Victor says, deciding not to begin an argument with his uncle now, who would much rather see him married to a foreign princess or to the omega child of a lord. “Which is why I will present him to the court at the Peace festivities.”

Yakov stares at him. “You intend to present him to the court already?”

“Of course,” Victor says, “you know that his position as my maîtresse en titre will only be secured if he is presented to the court and its members. I really do not see a better opportunity to do that than during the Peace festivities.”

He takes his own cup and sips the wine, the taste of it sweet on his tongue. The one at Lyubna tastes better, though, he thinks, even if it is the very same.

It only tastes better when drunken from Yuuri’s lips.

“I know that you would rather see me married, uncle,” he says after he has swallowed, meeting his uncle’s gaze.

Yakov huffs. “What I want is not of any significance,” he replies. “It is only you who has to be aware of what is _needed_.”

Victor gives him a small, emotionless smile.

* * *

Realistically speaking, the way from the king’s study to the rooms of the maîtresse en titre is not very long.

However, Victor finds it far too long for his taste as he finally leaves his desk in the early evening, having decided that enough is enough, and that treatises and other documents won’t run away from him overnight. Although he sometimes wishes they would.

His way leads him around a few corners and up a broad staircase, past his own chambers and the bath, until he stands in front of Yuuri’s door, closed and no sound coming from within. Nonetheless, Victor knocks before he enters, a smile on his face as he readies himself to greet his mistress.

The room, however, is empty. But the door to the balcony has been left ajar, as if it were a clue for the king to follow. Victor crosses the room and steps outside, the cool air hitting his face, the setting sun blinding him for a moment.

He hears Yuuri before he sees him, hears his laughter coming from below. He is down there, in the small but marvellous garden that belongs to these chambers. They are private, not accessible for courtiers and therefore a little sanctuary for his beloved. Yuuri is already making best use of it, laughing and chatting away happily with his servant as they play with the dogs. Both Makkachin and Vicchan are chasing what seems to be a ball, rolling over on the grass each time they catch it, their barks and yips expressions of greatest, carefree joy.

Victor chuckles, turning away from the bannister to walk down the stairs. Makkachin sees him first, abandoning the ball she has just caught to come and greet him, her tail wagging in excitement. Vicchan comes next, his barks much higher than Makkachin’s. Now, Yuuri sees him, too, and he begins to smile wide and walks towards him.

“Your majesty,” he says softly and curtsies, as they are not alone and any intimacies are to be kept in private, with no servant in sight.

“I see that you are enjoying yourself,” Victor says and reaches out to help Yuuri rise. Yuuri places his hand in the king’s palm and stands, the smile still on his face and, now that Victor stands so close to him, even more gorgeous than from afar.

“The day was far too beautiful to stay indoors after the sky cleared up, Mylord,” he says, laughing as the dogs jump up their legs to get their attention. “And the dogs needed to get out as well.”

“I can see that!” Victor laughs and dismisses Guang Hong with a quick wave of his hand to bring them both the privacy that they so desire. The moment Guang Hong turns around the corner and disappears, Victor takes Yuuri by both hands, pulls him closer and kisses him deeply, the omega immediately melting into the kiss and responding as wonderfully as ever.

“Oh, my sweet,” Victor sighs and pulls away, but not without bringing Yuuri’s hands to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “I have missed you all day.”

Yuuri blushes. “I have missed you, too, Victor,” he whispers and looks up at the king through his eyelashes, his gaze luring Victor in as if they were a trap of gold. “Very much.”

“Now I’m here,” Victor hums and lets go of one of his hands to touch his cheek. “Are you not cold?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “We have been running around quite a lot just now.”

“Then you must be tired,” Victor concludes and kisses his forehead. “How about a bath?”

“I have bathed this morning, Mylord,” Yuuri chuckles, but his eyes are sparkling in mischievous glee. “But I would certainly not refuse to bathe a second time if I were to share it with you.”

Victor’s mouth feels very, very dry all of a sudden, just as he feels the warmth pool in his lower regions.

“Oh, then I must insist,” he whispers and kisses Yuuri on the lips again, firmer and with more passion this time, so much that Yuuri finally wraps his arms around his neck and responds in equal fervour. Victor then picks him up, causing Yuuri to squeal and laugh as the king lifts him into his arms with ease and carries him upstairs as if he were his bride.

“Victor! I’m too heavy!” Yuuri laughs and playfully hits his chest with his palms, but Victor only shakes his head.

“Nonsense,” he says, “you are as light as a feather in my arms.”

How he manages to open the door to the bath neither of them know, but it is only by the edge of the large pool embedded into the floor where the king puts Yuuri down and immediately kisses him again. Hands wander over each other’s bodies, tugging on the clothing that suddenly feels far too restrictive.

“Victor, don’t destroy my gown!” Yuuri chuckles against his lips as Victor tugs firmly on the belt around Yuuri’s waist.

“I will buy you a new one,” Victor hums. “Hundreds. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands.”

“How wasteful,” Yuuri sighs as the gown comes off and slides down his body, exposing him to the warm air of the bathroom.

Nothing could ever be a waste if it were meant for Yuuri, Victor thinks.

Finally, his own clothes come off, and he steps into the water, holding out his hands for Yuuri to take, not wanting him to slip and hurt himself. Slowly, Yuuri follows him, stepping down the few steps into the pool that is filled with hot water and rose oil to enchant their senses. Not that Victor would have needed that, especially not when he is with Yuuri, whose beauty lures him in, whose naked body seems to sing to him as they sink into the heat of the water together. Victor leans back against the edge, holding Yuuri close as his beloved settles on his lap, the thighs that Victor finds to die for coming around his waist and Yuuri’s arms around his neck. He is close, so incredibly close, his full lips the colour of cherries.

“I have been thinking of you all day,” Victor says quietly, and feels no shame in admitting it.

Yuuri’s eyes widen slightly, and his lips part, as if he wants to say something, but no sound comes out.

Victor frowns softly and reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of Yuuri’s face, tracing the gentle line of his beloved’s cheekbone with his fingertips, carefully, as if he were made of glass.

“What is it, my sweet?” The king asks him quietly. “Have I offended you?”

At that, Yuuri’s eyes widen even more. “N-No, Mylord,” he says immediately and swallows thickly. “I… I merely think…” He averts his gaze. “How could I ever be truly worthy of your affection?”

Victor sighs and gently grasps Yuuri’s chin to encourage him to look at him again, proudly and without fear. It is that particular look that has enticed and enchanted Victor from the very beginning, and what he longs to see every single day, every time he looks at Yuuri.

“It is I who decides who is worthy of my affection,” the king says softly. “And of all people, you deserve it the most, my sweet.”

Yuuri blushes deeply at that and casts down his eyes bashfully. “I still wake every morning thinking that all of this must be a dream,” he whispers and looks up at Victor through his eyelashes. What the king finds in them is the fire he has seen in Yuuri from the very beginning, as well as passion and tempest – all of it making Yuuri so unique, so unfathomable.

It forces even a king to his knees.

“It is not a dream, my sweet,” Victor whispers. “And it will never be.”

He kisses Yuuri on the lips. Then, he embraces him and buries his face in Yuuri’s neck, breathing in his sweet, soothing scent.

One should stop the world from turning now, leave this moment to them forever, so that it may never change.

“You are so warm,” Victor sighs and kisses Yuuri’s shoulder. “The world must envy me, for I am the one who is blessed with your presence.”

“Victor…” Yuuri breathes and tilts his head to the side out of sheer instinct as Victor kisses his neck and up to his jawline.

“There could never be a greater blessing,” Victor whispers into Yuuri’s ear and gently bites down on his earlobe, causing Yuuri to gasp. “My sweet Yuuri. My beautiful Yuuri. My most divine Yuuri…”

His hands move down Yuuri’s sides to rest on the top of his thighs, between Yuuri’s legs that are already spread, fingers moving inside him to tease him.

“M-Mylord!” Yuuri gasps, his hands gripping the king’s shoulders. “O-Oh…”

“My Yuuri, who sings so beautifully to me,” Victor whispers. “Like a siren he sings to me.” He curls his fingers and Yuuri whimpers, his head falling forward as he instinctively moves his hips, wordlessly begging for more, so much more. All of it Victor wants to give to him.

He rises from the water, lifting Yuuri up with him as he removes his fingers from him and climbs out of the pool, carrying his beloved through the room to the chaise longue in the corner. There, he puts him down and climbs over him, kissing him with all the love and passion he feels for him, unable and unwilling to hold himself back, the hunger he feels for Yuuri too overwhelming. The omega is like wax in his arms, his wet skin like silk beneath his fingertips. His warmth, the warmth that surrounds Victor as he enters him is overwhelming, almost driving him insane, just like the cry of pleasure that falls from Yuuri’s lips. He feels Yuuri’s arms come around his neck, the omega holding onto him for dear life as he submits to him, gives himself to him, and Victor knows that Yuuri does so with greatest joy.

Were it any different, Victor would not be able to bear it.

And so, he kisses him, their lips meeting, their breaths searching for the other as they move together. Pearls of sweat fall from Victor’s forehead, from both exhaustion and the heat of the bath. Yuuri whimpers, the sound of it driving Victor to the brink of insanity as something very primal deep inside him realises that it is _him_ who makes Yuuri feel like this – that he is the first, and only one who makes Yuuri feel the heights of pleasure, and that if the Heavens are with them, he will also be the last. Oh, he would have to be a fool to ever let him go again – this impossible, unfathomable, extraordinary, most divine being that has been gifted to him for a reason he does not understand.

All he knows that Yuuri is with him, that he wants to be with him, and that must be enough.

Yuuri cries out in lust, nails digging into Victor’s skin as the omega arches his back and tightens around him, so forcefully that it does not take long for the king to follow him into the most forbidden depths of bliss. Victor groans and collapses on top of him, the tension of the day leaving his body as he comes deep inside Yuuri, and the world becomes quiet.

It takes all of Victor’s strength to remove himself from Yuuri at least a little so he can breathe, but they remain where they are, their legs entangled as they catch their breaths. To let go of him is the very last thing Victor wants to do, not when Yuuri feels so warm in his arms, so comforting and reassuring.

That is what the omega does to him, he thinks as he basks in the afterglow of their mating.

Yuuri makes him feel loved.

There is no other way to say it.

“Your aunt came to see me this morning,” Yuuri whispers and runs a hand through Victor’s hair.

“I heard so,” Victor hums and kisses his shoulder. “What did she want?”

“She wanted to know if I had settled in,” Yuuri says softly. “And told me what to expect of my position.”

Victor sighs and looks up at him, reaching out to cup Yuuri’s cheek. “Your position is right by my side. Which is why I want to present you to the court at the Peace Festivities.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen.

Victor sits up and so does Yuuri, who grasps the king’s hand and brings it to his lips to kiss it in sheer gratitude.

“How could I ever be worthy?”

Victor leans forward and kisses his forehead. “You are worthy of the world, my sweet.”

Yuuri’s eyes shine bright like the stars as he looks at him, unspeakable joy and thankfulness in them as the king takes him into his arms and carries him to bed.

* * *

On the morning of the Peace Festivities, Victor feels strangely disconnected from the world.

Perhaps it is because of the importance of the day – for the festivities take place for the 85th time now, and the number 85 is a sacred one. There are 85 divine commandments, 85 chapters in the holy scriptures, 85 names for what lies beyond the Heavens. Therefore, the 85th Peace Festivities are considered special. Divine, even.

Perhaps it is because there are so many things the king has to keep in mind that day, from the speech he has to hold to the people has to greet in order to not offend them or the provinces they represent. There even will be a representative of Hasetsu, he has been told, and he has asked Yuuri to teach him a few words of greeting in the local language.

But most likely, it is because Yuuri is with him, the warmth of their bed surrounding them as the omega shivers beneath him. Victor has busied himself with kissing his body all over after their mating, making sure that Yuuri is thoroughly satisfied – although they both know that there is no such thing as complete satisfaction, that they will both always be hungry for more. Victor knows he is particularly to blame here, for he can barely keep his hands off his mistress. But who could blame him, he thinks as he sucks on Yuuri’s neck, when the object of his desire is the enigma that is Yuuri of Hasetsu?

“A-Are you not sated, Mylord?” Yuuri breathes and looks down at the king through his eyelashes. “You are too good to me… ahh…” His eyes fall shut as Victor kisses a particularly sensitive spot right below his ear.

Victor chuckles softly. “How could I ever be sated,” he whispers. “When your body is right here for me to feast on?” He kisses down to Yuuri’s clavicle, running his hands down his beloved’s side to have it rest on his waist. “Only for me, and me alone…” He sighs against Yuuri’s skin. “I feel tempted to hide you away from the world, to never present you to the court…”

Yuuri shifts beneath him.

“Then why don’t you?” He whispers.

Victor closes his eyes for a moment.

Oh, if it only were so easy.

“How could I keep a bird in a cage, and never let it fly?” He asks Yuuri, lifting his head to look up at him, meeting his gaze. “How could I lock you in and throw away the key, out of selfish reasons?”

Yuuri licks his lips. “You are the king,” he whispers, “and you may do as you please.”

“That may be.” Victor pulls away just enough to pull himself up, resting on his elbow as he hovers above his mistress and admires his beauty in the golden morning light. “But would I be a good man if I became such a tyrant?”

Yuuri reaches out to touch his cheek, does so with incredible tenderness and care that it makes Victor’s heart ache. It is a caress so simple and plain, but when it is done by Yuuri, it feels like a divine touch, like something Victor does not deserve. Especially not when Yuuri looks at him the way he does now, with compassion beyond this world.

“How could you ever be a tyrant, Victor?” He whispers. “How could the man that loves and worships me every night ever be a cruel, heartless man?”

“My ancestors have succumbed to heartlessness and cruelty before,” Victor murmurs, turning his head ever so slightly to kiss Yuuri’s palm that still touches his cheek. “I fear that one day, I might become like them.”

But Yuuri shakes his head, and the passion in his eyes becomes one of fierce determination. “I will not allow it,” he says. “Not as long as it is I who owns your heart.”

Victor swallows thickly at that, Yuuri’s words so gentle and kind, and he knows that he deserves none of it.

“I shall keep it pure,” Yuuri tells him and slowly sits up, his other hand coming to rest Victor’s chest, right above his heart. “I shall keep all evil away from it, and hold and cherish it, and take care of it. And I shall shower it with love, affection, and devotion, for as long as I live.”

Victor bows his head, placing his hand right on top of Yuuri’s where it rests on his chest, and brings it up to his lips to kiss his fingertips.

“Then I shall take your love with me today,” he says quietly. “When I speak to my people, I will think of you. And I hope that you will listen.”

Yuuri nods and shuffles closer, wrapping his arms around Victor’s neck in the most loving way. “I wish I could be there with you,” he murmurs and plays with the hair in the king’s neck.

“Soon,” Victor promises and wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist to pull him onto his lap. “Soon you will be presented to the court, and then you can follow me everywhere. But I fear if you came with me right away, the clergy would give me hell for it.”

“I understand,” Yuuri says and gently kisses the corner of his mouth. “So I shall listen to your speech from afar.”

“And I will know that you are watching,” Victor hums and returns the kiss. One kiss becomes two, and two become many, until a gentle, polite knock at the door forces them apart. Victor sighs, frustrated, but it is him who has asked Anatoly to wake him early in the morning. The only one he can blame is himself.

“I have to go, my sweet,” he says softly as they pull apart, and he cups Yuuri’s face with both hands, looking him in the eye. “But tonight, when all is said and done, I shall dance with you in front of the entire court.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen in shock and surprise, and he blushes, wonderfully so.

“I feel so honoured, Mylord,” he breathes.

Victor kisses his forehead. “All honours may be bestowed on you, my sweet.”

He lets go of him and slips out of bed, feeling Yuuri’s eyes on his backside as he bends over to pick up his dressing gown from the floor. They have abandoned their clothes there, both of them having been too eager to get into bed, to taste the other and to drown in each other’s touch. If Victor could, he would stay in the bed of his mistress forever, he would shut out the world and devote himself to a life of worship, with Yuuri as his deity.

But the world is cruel, and it demands of Victor to face it, whether he likes it or not.

He turns around, finding Yuuri sitting in bed, covered barely by the duvet Victor has left behind. The very picture of temptation, Victor thinks, and Yuuri’s eyes look at him in fierce determination, as if to challenge him to drop his clothes and return to him this instant. But there is also gentleness in them, understanding and compassion.

In Yuuri’s eyes, Victor never finds judgement.

But right now, there is uncertainty in them, and Victor’s heart aches at the sight.

“What if I make a fool of myself tonight, Victor?” Yuuri whispers. “Will I not bring you shame?”

Victor closes the distance between them and grasps his beloved’s chin, leaning down to kiss him one more time, with all the gentleness and affection he feels for him.

“You could never bring me shame, my sweet,” he whispers as he pulls away again.

Yuuri swallows thickly.

Another knock on the door reminds them of the day that awaits them both, and Victor wishes it were not so.

“Sleep some more,” he whispers to Yuuri before he pulls away for good, because he knows if he gives in now, he will succumb to his desires and never leave the bed again. Never leave this room again.

Either way, what bliss.

Yuuri nods and watches him leave, his eyes fixed on the king’s back as Victor leaves the room very reluctantly. Outside, Anatoly awaits him, his expression as calm as ever as he bows his head.

“Good morning, Anatoly,” Victor says with a sigh as he closes the door behind him and makes sure his dressing gown sits properly, not wanting to force any sight upon his loyal valet – or on the guards that stand in the hallway.

“Good morning, your majesty,” Anatoly says as they walk down the hallway towards the stairs. “I have told the maids to draw you a bath right away. Breakfast will be served in your bedroom as well. The high priest will certainly not barge in there.”

Victor sighs and shoots the valet a thankful look. “I do not know what I would do without you,” he says. “Truly. I would be lost without you.”

“Victor!”

The king frowns and turns around, just in time to see Yuuri hurry towards him with blowing robes, the dressing gown he wears hardly covering him as he runs towards Victor and throws his arms around his neck to pull him in for a deep, passionate kiss. It happens far too fast for Victor to react, to even stop him, but as their lips meet, he knows he does not mind.

But the moment is over far too soon, and Yuuri pulls away, fire and passion in his eyes as he leans in again to whisper into Victor’s ear.

“Think of me today, Mylord.”

And then, he lets go of him and walks away, back to his room, back to the open door where he throws another glance over his shoulder at the king.

Yuuri’s glance alone is enough to force a king, any king, really, to his knees.

Only as the door falls shut again, Victor comes back to his senses. With him, still, he realises in embarrassment, is Anatoly, who has turned away politely the moment Yuuri has called the king’s name to give them at least the illusion of privacy.

Victor clears his throat and they keep on walking, neither of them saying a word about what has just happened, but the knowing smile on his valet’s lips speaks for itself. Anatoly has been in his service for too long to be surprised about the ordinary antics of the king. But a force like Yuuri is even new to him, and it seems to amuse him greatly, for Anatoly’s smile has turned into an outright grin by the time they enter Victor’s bedroom, where the bath awaits him.

“You better say it now, Anatoly, before you burst,” Victor sighs and takes off his dressing gown.

“Oh, it is nothing, Mylord,” Anatoly chuckles and takes the dressing gown from him. “But I must say that I do not think I have ever seen you so happy. His Grace must be very good to you. In every sense, I dare say?”

The look that Victor shoots him is one of utter scandal, but as the valet begins to laugh, Victor slowly begins to chuckle, too.

It is all too unbelievable, is it not?

For inside his chest, his heart is aflame, the fire in it entirely Yuuri’s.

The robes he dresses in after the bath are of a pristine white colour, the colour of peace in their realm. There are little ornaments to it besides the belt and the crown, both made of gold, the rubies in them a stark contrast to the white fabric. Victor only ever wears these robes on the day of the Peace Festivities, and of all the official robes dedicated to certain purposes, they are by far his favourites, for they are simple enough.

It is also quite fortunate that he looks rather good in them, too.

Anatoly knows it, too, for he nods approvingly behind the king as Victor looks at himself in the mirror, looks at the crown that sits perfectly on his head. It is one of the few that there are, and it is, of course, not the one they placed on his head the day of his coronation. But it bears the same symbolism, the same weight.

“If I may say so, Mylord,” Anatoly says from behind him, “of them all, the Crown of Peace suits you best.”

Victor smiles weakly and meets the servant’s gaze in the mirror. “I hope I can do it justice today”, he says and turns around to the other man. “Do you think my speech will be well-received?”

Anatoly smiles softly and clasps his hands behind his back. “Amongst the clergy, perhaps not. But the people, those who matter, will receive it very well. I am certain of it, Mylord, after what you have told me about your speech.”

Victor nods in agreement. “I think so, too. The high priest will certainly not like it.”

“Absolutely not,” Anatoly says and tilts his head to the side. “But frankly said, Mylord, the man forgets far too often that it is your majesty who sits on the throne, and not him.”

Victor raises an eyebrow at that, but Anatoly’s words amuse him enough to merely chide him half-heartedly. “Really, Anatoly. To say such a thing about our good and gracious high priest.”

He chuckles and gives his valet a slight pat on the arm as he walks over to the window, the very one that offers a view of the city. From where he stands, he can already see the flags and banners, and if he opens the window, he would surely be able to hear the music from the parades. Soon, the people will have reached the palace walls and the gates, where he will come to greet them and to speak to the citizens of Petersburg. He does so twice a year – on the day of the Peace Festivities and on the last day of the year. Of course, if the situation demands it, he will also speak to his people in between, but in a calm and quiet year, such things are not necessary.

Nonetheless, it is of utter importance to stay in touch with the people that are his subjects. Even more so now, Victor thinks as he looks out of the window, after the things he has seen at Lyubna.

“What time is it, Anatoly?”

The servant glances at the clock on the mantlepiece. “Almost noon, Mylord.”

Victor sighs.

Turning away from the window, he gives Anatoly an almost pained look. “I would enjoy these festivities very much were it not for our dear high priest.”

Anatoly hums in agreement. “I understand that, your majesty. But there is one thing that he has to live with that you will never have to suffer.”

Victor frowns. “And that is?”

“Celibacy.”

* * *

It is with a certain spring in his step when Victor enters the throne room, and is greeted by high court members and high clergy, all of them bowing deeply to him. Bowing the lowest, of course, is the high priest – and old man with views that were old-fashioned centuries ago and whose opportunism knows no limits. His robes are much heavier than Victor’s, the ornaments clearly on display.

Victor has disliked him from the very beginning, but depends on him and the support of the high clergy.

In the recent weeks, he has begun to doubt the rightfulness of this circumstance.

“Your majesty,” the high priest says as he stands up straight again, his grey eyes cold and unforgiving as ever.

“It is time already, I think,” Victor says to him as he walks past him, expecting the older man to follow him.

“The people have just reached the gates, your majesty,” the high priest confirms as he walks beside the king, the staff that is meant to symbolise unity between Heaven and Earth, unity between spirituality and the crown, in his hand. The unity, however, does not feel true to Victor, for all of it is artificial and only for show. “They are awaiting the words of their sovereign.”

“I hope the chapels and houses of clergy have followed my request and have opened their doors today to feed the sick and poor,” Victor says, not deigning to look at the man as they step outside into the large courtyard to head to the gates. It is a sunny day, perfect for the Peace Festivities, and Victor can hear the cheers, the singing, the music coming from the other side of the palace walls.

“Certainly, your majesty,” the high priest says.

“Good,” Victor says and glances up at the palace walls whose top is lined with people – and there, at a corner tower, he can see a dark-haired figure standing by the edge, together with someone smaller. They are too far away, too high up for Victor to see their faces, but he knows that they are Yuuri with his young servant.

Before the high priest’s gaze can follow his, he looks away again. But his heart feels lighter, now knowing that Yuuri is hear, that Yuuri will watch him and listen to his speech. Victor already wonders what he will have to say to it once they have the chance to be alone again – after all, he has not spoken to him about the speech, not about the content, not about the impact he hopes for. In fact, he shares little of his work with Yuuri, does not want to bother him with it, and Yuuri never asks. Regardless, Victor would never call him disinterested.

Only considerate.

There are far more enjoyable things to talk about in bed.

By the time they have reached the gates, the cheers and music outside have become even louder, as they do every year. The songs are familiar to Victor, all of them written 85 years ago, all of them praising the gods and asking for everlasting peace. As a child, Victor has sung them, too, has tried to please his mother that way.

In the end, only his aunt Lilia had approved of his singing.

Nowadays, he no longer sings on this day, but speaks to his people instead. His people, who cheer as the gates finally open and their king steps outside, hand raised to wave at them in greeting. It is surreal, he thinks every single time, that they have all come to see him. But he also knows that to them, he is not a man like everyone else, but a symbol. Something greater than themselves.

It does not feel like it to Victor, but he has learnt to play the part.

And so, he walks to the top of the stairs that lead up to the gates, followed by the high priest and his guards. It is where his people will be able to hear him best, the acoustics caused by the particular architecture perfectly fitting his purpose. Nonetheless, despite the good nature of the event, approaching this particular spot always feels like a walk to the executioner to Victor. For that is what his people are – they are the ones, in the end, who keep him on the throne, or get rid of him altogether. He does not fear them, of course. But he respects them, and wishes desperately that others in the realm, like the high priest, would do the same.

The moment he arrives there, he raises his hands in greeting and waves at his people, smiling as he patiently waits for the crowd to fall silent. There are so many of them. Hundreds he can see, perhaps two or three thousand altogether, and many more invisible in the streets and alleys of the capital. And yet, they all fall silent as their king appears, wanting to hear him speak to them.

Victor silently thanks the Heavens.

“The Peace Festivities take place for the 85th time this year,” he begins, loud and clear. “And just as the previous 85 years have taught us the value of peace, so will the following years do the same.”

The people cheer, and Victor can feel the gaze of his beloved on his back from afar, knows that Yuuri is listening, that Yuuri can hear him, too, and that alone encourages him to continue, to speak with the passion that his speech deserves.

“Let us not look back, but look forward to a new future, then. Until now, the realm has enjoyed peace – but this peace has not belonged to us all. Only to a selected few. And those selected few have benefited greatly from it. Nobility. Clergy. Those the closest to the crown. Only what they wanted seemed to be of value. Only they seemed to count. But not the worth of every single man, woman, and child in our kingdom. Not the worth of every alpha, beta, and omega. And this should—no, it _must_ change.”

The people begin to cheer in an instant, erupting into applause. Men, women, children alike, all of them calling his name, celebrating his words, words of which Victor has to share more, for he has not finished yet.

“We have it in our hands to change it,” he calls. “We have it in our hands to improve this world for all of us, and not just for a selected few. To waste this chance would mean to bring us the hatred of those that will come after us. We must leave behind the morals and values of the past that block our way into a peaceful future, to find those that belong to our time. As your king, I ask you, all of you, to work together with me to turn the kingdom we love and we call our home into a better place, into a place that is just to us all. Meant to us all!”

The cheers become louder and louder, and Victor sees the smiles on the faces of his people. Those that stand before him now are the true people of the realm – the merchants, the working class, the beggars, the poor. All of them come together on a day like this, and they have come together now, applauding their king. Victor can see the awe in their faces, the surprise that his unusual speech has caused. But it encourages him to continue.

“Our dream of the future must not remain a dream!” He calls to them. “We will achieve all of this with the power we have had inside us all this time! Our way into the future is here, and we only have to dare to step onto its path. A way that will lead to freedom, to equality, to prosperity. A way without hatred, without envy. A way paved with the pride of a people that embraces the progress it works for! A way into a new time!”

By now, the cheers have become too loud for anyone to still understand the king, but Victor knows he does not have to say more – his people have understood him, have heard him, have embraced his words and believe in them. They take them in, have understood their spirit and their impact.

They do everything, they see everything that the clergy does not do and see, especially not the high priest. Victor can already feel his icy stare, can already imagine the expression on the old man’s face, an expression that the people of Petersburg entirely ignore as they have only eyes for their king.

How much easier all of this would be, Victor thinks as he waves at his people, with a consort at his side.

He dares to imagine it, to let the picture come to his mind and fill it completely – a picture of Yuuri, dressed in a pristine white gown, ornamented with rubies. Standing at his side, holding on his arm, waving at the crowds. Oh, how they would cheer for him. How they would admire not him, the king, but Yuuri, his consort. Yes, Yuuri would be most beloved by the common people. They would see his kind heart, his graciousness, his beauty, inside and out.

They would see how much Victor loves him.

None of it, nothing of what the king feels, or wants, or hopes for, is of any interest or concern to those closest to the crown. He sees it confirmed again as he turns around and sees the face of the high priest, and knows that the man disapproves very much of his speech. There will be complaints, without any doubt, but Victor will not hear them today.

With a final greeting to his people, Victor walks back through the gates that slowly close behind him. What will now come is a meeting with pre-selected prisoners in the throne room to pardon them, followed by a meeting with the ambassadors of all provinces.

And so, he ignores the high priest and takes his seat on the throne to do his duty.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back.  
> I hope you are all doing well these days. Germany is in lockdown again and I'm doing uni stuff, but otherwise, things are okay. It took me some time to write this chapter, but I hope you like it. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: Illness and anxiety.

If one were to describe the palace at the day of the Peace festivities to a stranger from a foreign land, one would struggle to find the appropriate words. For once a year, the palace turns into Heaven.

That is what is whispered among the common people, and of course, they all have their very own ideas of what Heaven looks like. It is a place of light, of course. That everyone can agree on. A place of light, where it is always warm and never cold, where the sun shines so bright that the light of it also illuminates the heart. Because Heaven is peaceful, the colour white is most prominent there. Yes, they say that in Heaven, all people wear white robes like the ones the king wears on this special day. And so, everything at the palace is white that day, from tablecloths to curtains to flowers. Only the king is dressed in white, of course, for he is the bringer of peace. If he has a consort, he or she would wear white, too. Everyone else wears their finest gowns with elements of white in them. The king and his people dance and celebrate well into the night, just like the common people on the street, and eat the finest food and drink the finest wine. Yes, that is how the common people imagine the Peace festivities at the palace to be, and they are not even aware of how close they come to the truth.

All of it is nothing new to the king, but very much so for his maîtresse. Yuuri, who has only ever celebrated this day in Hasetsu, is overwhelmed by the sheer abundance of everything – of how bright everything seems to be today. For everything is white, ornamented with clear crystals and white flowers, fitting the occasion.

None of it, however, shines as bright as the king.

And even though he has only seen Victor’s robes from afar, Yuuri feels stunned into silence still by the king’s beauty. Of his godliness, of his divinity, and it humbles him all the same. How could he ever be worthy of someone like him, of someone who appears like a god and yet shows such humanity in his words and deeds?

They are in particular Victor’s words that Yuuri carries in his heart, those directed at him and those directed at them all. His speech had been moving, incredibly so, and Yuuri had heard the honesty, the heart, the kindness in them. Yes, he had been prepared for everything, but not for this. Not for such passion.

He feels even less prepared now.

Guang Hong is with him, standing quietly beside him as Yuuri hesitates at the bottom of the stairs. Going down had been a great act of bravery in itself already, but to step through these doors, to step in front of the court, is something entirely different. But it is what he must do, what the king expects of him. To step through these doors, to take his place in the grand ballroom, and to wait.

To Yuuri, it feels as if Victor had asked him to walk through fire.

Little does he know that it feels similar to Victor in this moment, who takes a final moment to collect himself before he has to face the court and declare the beginning of the court festivities. There is little that Victor hates more than to engage with courtiers who have no interest in him as a person, but only in the king, and in their personal gain. But he depends on them, depends on the high houses, and must get through it. He can already hear them, hears them murmur and chat and laugh in the room on the other side of this door.

And, of course, he has to present Yuuri to them. Yuuri, who will hopefully wait for him in the grand ballroom, and help him to keep his sanity.

“Are you well?”

It is Christophe who speaks to him, standing aside but close enough to see the king’s face. As Victor meets his gaze, he sees that Chris’ face is adorned with slight concern.

Chris is one of the very few people that know him.

“I am well,” he tells him and smooths out his robe before he straightens his shoulders and corrects his posture. “Shall we?”

Chris nods at the guards standing at the doors, who open them wide, and Victor steps through as the master of ceremonies announces his arrival.

The courtiers bow and curtsy as the king enters, whispering his name and a traditional greeting as he walks past them to the head table where he will sit and where other already await him. The high priest, of course, but also his aunt and uncle. Especially his aunt is looking him over, he knows it as he catches sight of her from the corner of his eye, but she says no word as she curtsies the moment he walks past her to his seat.

It is there where he pauses and reaches for the cup of wine that has been filled for him in order to raise it. As it is custom.

But Victor hesitates, his eyes searching the ballroom, searching the crowd of courtiers in their magnificent gowns, for the only one that matters.

As he finds him, he cannot help but hold his breath, for his eyes finds Yuuri’s own so easily amongst hundreds. And in them, he sees joyful anticipation.

And so, Victor raises his cup and never looks away from Yuuri as he says: “To everlasting peace.”

“To everlasting peace,” the courtiers reply and applaud, just as the musicians begin to play and the feast and dances start. Traditionally, the king will now take a seat and chat politely here and there. But not tonight.

Instead, Victor puts the cup down and walks around the table to step down from the platform and makes his way through the crowd. The people part before him in an instant, all of them whispering and craning their necks as their king walks towards the one they have noticed right away, to the omega that stands by the doors, the very one they have wanted to see since the day he bewitched their king.

And tonight, Yuuri is a sight to behold in his deep-blue gown, his neck ornamented with a single jewel that sparkles in the light of the lanterns above. Victor has chosen all of it for him, has gifted the necklace to him in a moment of heated passion, and regrets none of it.

“Your majesty,” Yuuri says softly and curtsies before him, as they are in public, and Victor holds out his hand to help him rise. Yuuri’s hand is so small compared to his own, but only a fool would underestimate what they are capable of.

Victor knows that well.

He brings Yuuri’s knuckles to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of his hand, his lips lingering there a little too long for the gesture to be innocent.

“Will you dance with me?”

Yuuri blushes, and his eyes shine in excitement and anticipation as the king leads him to the middle of the ballroom. In an instant, the other dancing pairs make space for them, so much that they are immediately on full display for everyone to see, and Victor sees the panic flare up in Yuuri’s eyes. But the music changes, changes to a dance that allows him to step even closer to him.

“Do not look at them,” he says quietly as they both raise their hands and let their fingertips touch. “Disregard them completely. Keep your eyes on me alone, my sweet.”

Yuuri nods, and they begin to dance.

Victor has not doubted for a single second that Yuuri is a terrific dancer, having seen how he moves in every situation. He is the personification of elegance and grace, even more so now as they move together, following the steps of the dance that is supposed to be innocent but feels far too scandalous now, when danced with the one they love. Victor is certain the courtiers see it, too – the scandalous display of the king and his mistress, for them all to see.

The king would not have it any other way.

“They are watching us so,” Yuuri says quietly as they turn.

“They only admire your beauty,” Victor assures him and turns with him. “And they imagine unspeakable things. As if they had a right to know.”

“No one shall know, Mylord,” Yuuri hums and puts his hand on Victor’s upper arm for the next figure. “No one shall know what we say and do to one another.”

Victor agrees wholeheartedly. No, these people do not deserve to see the true faces of them, do not deserve to know Yuuri like he does. The mere fact they get to watch them dance is already far too much, but a necessary evil, and he knows that many of them would die to come closer and to see more, to hear more.

Victor chuckles. “Let us play a little with our audience, shall we?”

Yuuri’s eyes widen, but only for a split second as they turn again to the music. “And how?” He whispers as they look at each other again, the music slowing down just a bit as the rhythm changes. Just in the right moment. Victor places his hand on Yuuri’s waist and leans in.

“Let us begin as if we were whispering into each other’s ear,” he hums against Yuuri’s temple and feels the other man shiver. “Then sigh, and then chuckle, and I will pull you close to me.” And he does so right away as the music becomes even slower, even more intimate, asking of the dancers to grasp each other’s waist with one hand, to circle one another in a never-ending courtship dance. Yuuri chuckles, and then sighs, not quite how Victor thought it, but so much better, and more like himself.

“So it shall seem as if all of this were new to me?” Yuuri asks him, in his eyes pure joy with a hint of mischief. “As if I had never been in your arms before, Mylord?”

“Oh, no,” Victor hums. “As if you had been in my arms all the time. As if you were dying to feel my touch on your skin.”

Yuuri blinks, and for a moment, he seems stunned before he says: “But I am always dying for your touch on my skin, Mylord. At all times.”

He twirls and suddenly finds himself in Victor’s arms, and the crowd gasps.

“Shall we provoke them a little bit more?” Yuuri whispers, and this time, his eyes mean tempest.

“What did you have in mind?” Victor asks him breathlessly.

Yuuri runs his hands up Victor’s arms, just subtly so and not in an indecent way, but his touch feels like sparks of lightings to the king, even through the fabric of his robes.

“I could get lost in your eyes, Mylord, right here” he whispers and leans as close as the dance allows. “Although I am already lost, my Victor, with only you there to catch me. I was lost the moment your eyes first met mine.”

“And so was I,” Victor breathes and pulls Yuuri close, so impossibly close as they move together, move to the music of the orchestra but also to the music that they create with their bodies. There is a difference, Victor realises, between dancing with a noble lord or lady and dancing with Yuuri, who fits so perfectly against his body and looks at him with such deep affection.

No one will ever understand what it feels like, Victor thinks. Yes, let the courtiers watch and make their assumptions about them, but they will never understand the true nature of what they are to one another.

For the king, there is no doubt to that.

By the time the dance ends, they are chest to chest, their lips so impossibly close that the king feels tempted to kiss his mistress right here in front of everyone. But he resists the temptation, and reaches for his hand instead to kiss his knuckles once more.

“Come, my sweet,” he whispers, and Yuuri nods, taking his arm.

Together, they walk back to the head table where the others already await them, and Victor can already tell that the high priest is struggling very much to conceal his disapproval. But right now, the king could not have cared less, for the fact that he gets to parade Yuuri around for everyone to see thrills him immensely.

“Come,” Victor says and leads him up to the table. “You have already met my dearest aunt, but not my uncle, I think? May I introduce?” As they come closer, the people sitting at the table rise. Among them is Yakov, who looks at Yuuri in his usual, stoic demeanour. “My dear uncle, Duke Yakov. Uncle, this is my dearest maîtresse, Yuuri of Hasetsu.”

“Your grace,” Yakov says with a bow of his head. His voice sounds gruff, but is not necessarily unfriendly.

“And of course,” Victor says before Yuuri can say anything in return, “my dear friend, Lord Giacometti. Or Chris, as he prefers.”

“How do you do,” Chris says and kisses the back of Yuuri’s hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you again, your grace.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Yuuri says softly and looks back at Yakov. “And it is a pleasure to meet you, too, your grace. And you, Duchess Lilia.” He curtsies before her in greeting.

“Impeccable manners, as expected from a child of the north,” Lilia remarks and Victor longs to kiss Yuuri for it, but he must hold back. Instead, he leads him to the chair right next to his own, where a consort would sit, before taking a seat as well. Only there, right on his armrest, he takes Yuuri’s hand and squeezes it gently.

“You must be hungry,” he says and leans towards him most affectionately. “And thirsty, too. I am always thirsty after dancing, how about you?”

“Oh, very much so, Mylord,” Yuuri says and thanks the servant that pours them both a cup of water and a cup of wine. The wine has an interesting colour, he thinks, almost familiar, even.

Victor pushes the cup towards him. “Try it,” he says.

Yuuri takes the cup and sips carefully, the taste on his tongue immediately telling him what it is.

“Mylord!” He exclaims and looks at Victor in surprise. “Wine from Hasetsu?”

Victor nods and takes his own cup. “I had some of it brought here right after we returned from Lyubna. You told me how very much you liked it and I must say that I like it, too. There is much more, of course.”

Yuuri blushes. “Oh, Mylord, I must not drink too much of it,” he says and looks down as if ashamed. “I do not do well with alcohol, I’m afraid. It turns me into a terrible version of myself that you should best never see.”

“Is that so?” Victor asks in amusement and gently grasps Yuuri’s chin to lift his gaze again. “But what if I want to see it?”

“Oh, do not make me, Mylord, please.”

“Of course not,” the king says and lets go of his chin to take his hand again. “But a man can dream.”

He raises his other hand and a servant comes to bring them food, all of it things of which he knows that Yuuri likes them. With Yuuri at his side, it is so much easier to ignore the crowds, to ignore the courtiers that are all staring at them now, staring at the omega that has bewitched the king. And oh, how utterly bewitched he is. One might even say that their display of affection is shameless – after all, the king sits so awfully close to him, has him even sitting to his right, where a consort should sit, not a mistress. He even feeds him, holding cherries, grapes, and other fruit to his lips, and that alone is scandalous in itself. But the king ignores it all, and ignores the fact that he has not even introduced his mistress to the high priest.

Others do not ignore it at all, and those who know the rules of the court silently begin to make bets on who will make the first move.

If the high priest will bend the knee today.

The situation is a rather peculiar one, and for an outsider not easy to understand, but for the courtiers, it is all clear. By not introducing his mistress to the high priest, the king is sending a clear message, showing that he does not even try to get the clergy’s approval. They also know that if the high priest does not greet the king’s mistress, he is insulting both the omega and his majesty. If he does greet him, the high priest is bending the knee, and therefore bowing to the king’s will.

Such a power play is not what the courtiers have expected on the day of the Peace festivities, but they are intrigued nonetheless.

“My sweet,” Victor says and grasps Yuuri’s hand where it lays on the table. “There is someone that I would like for you to meet.”

“Oh?” Yuuri’s eyes begin to shine. “Who is it?”

“You will see.” Victor kisses his knuckles and then turns around to the servant once more, exchanging a few words with him. The man nods and walks away, heading down to the other tables where the ambassadors have their meal. One of them he addresses, and as the man rises and walks up to the king’s table, Yuuri gasps.

“Morooka-san!” He exclaims.

“Do you know him?” Victor asks in surprise.

Yuuri nods. “Our families are well-acquainted, Mylord.”

The ambassador of Hasetsu arrives at the king’s table and bows deeply.

“Your majesty,” he says and looks up for a moment before bowing to Yuuri, too. “Your grace.”

“Oh, Morooka-san,” Yuuri breathes, still holding the king’s hand. “What a happy coincidence. I am so happy to see you well.”

“The pleasure is all mine, your grace,” Morooka says with a friendly smile. “Allow me to congratulate you to your advancement in the name of the people of Hasetsu. It has been the talk of the town for weeks. Good talk, of course.”

“What city would not take pride in having raised such a jewel?” Victor asks and squeezes Yuuri’s hand as the omega blushes at his words. “And I am very glad to have an ambassador of Hasetsu at my court. There are many things I wish to discuss with you over the next few days.”

Morooka bows. “It would be an honour, your majesty.”

“The honour is all mine,” Victor tells him. “The north, and especially places like Hasetsu, have been neglected and forgotten about for far too long. I intend to make great changes. But more of that soon. I hope you have been able to enjoy your time at the palace, Morooka?”

“Very much, your majesty,” the ambassador replies. “I have been treated exceptionally well since I arrived.”

“I am glad to hear that,” the king says, playing absentmindedly with Yuuri’s hand. “Our festivities are rather different from the ones in the north, as my darling has told me. I hope we do not disappoint?”

Morooka laughs. “Absolutely not, your majesty. I have never seen a greater display of joy, devotion, and longing for peace as I have here. The festivities in Petersburg and here in the palace are truly magnificent.”

“What more could I possibly want,” Victor says and raises his cup in approval. “Enjoy your time here, Ambassador.”

Morooka bows deeply to first the king, then to Yuuri, before he walks away and back to his seat.

Next, yet another course of dinner is served, consisting of various cuts of meat and fish, many of them unknown to Yuuri, but he tries them nonetheless. Finally, dessert is served, most of them cakes and fruit coated in sugar and chocolate. The king feeds his mistress once more, Yuuri blushing furiously as Victor playfully withdraws his hand whenever he tries to bite down, until the king laughs and Yuuri hides his blush behind his hands. Only then, Victor gives in, and he kisses him on the lips, right there, for everyone to see.

As he pulls away, Yuuri casts down his eyes in utter embarrassment, but their hands never let go of each other.

Such an open display of affection between a king and his mistress is not necessarily unheard of – but it has never been the case for King Victor to behave in such a way, let alone with the son of a small, rather unimportant family.

“I have a question, Mylord,” Yuuri says and touches Victor’s arm. “Why is white considered to be the colour of peace in Petersburg?”

Victor is surprised. “Is it not the colour of peace in Hasetsu?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “We do not have a colour that symbolises peace, I think,” he says. “On this day, most people in Hasetsu wear traditional clothing of various colours.”

“I see,” Victor says, and wonders what Yuuri would look like in traditional clothing. “I must admit that I do not know why white is the colour of peace, but I assume it has something to do with religion. Let us ask the high priest, then.”

He turns around to a servant and exchanges a few words with the young man, who immediately walks away to ask the high priest to come to the king’s table.

“His excellency is surely too busy to answer such simple questions,” Yuuri says softly. “Should we really bother him, Mylord?”

“He bothers me all the time by merely existing,” Victor says, watching as the servant bows to the high priest and speaks to him. The high priest’s expression does not give away what he thinks, at least not from this distance, but he nods at the servant and begins to make his way past the dancing courtiers to the king’s table.

“Your excellency,” Victor says as the man reaches the table and bows before the king. “My maîtresse has a question for you, of religious nature.”

The high priest stands tall again as his gaze falls onto Yuuri, barely noticeably raising an eyebrow. “Is that so, your grace?”

“Yes,” Victor says and, quite openly, brings Yuuri’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. “What is it you would like to know, my sweet?”

Yuuri looks up at the high priest. “I was wondering why white is considered the colour of peace in Petersburg, your excellency,” he says softly. “His majesty assumed it was for a religious reason.”

The high priest smiles briefly, but the smile does not reach his eyes. “His majesty is correct, as always. The colour white is associated with the holy mother and stands for purity of the mind and body.”

“And purity of the mind is what is needed to achieve peace, and purity of the body is achieved by keeping the peace,” Victor says and begins to laugh. “Ah, now I remember! I learnt all these things as a young boy, but it seems that I forgot them over time. It just came back to me.”

“That is very interesting,” Yuuri says. “I did not know it had to do with the holy mother, your excellency.”

“You do not pray to the holy mother in the north, I think?” Victor asks. “You still pray to the old gods. Is that not interesting, your excellency?”

The high priest looks very much as if he had bitten into a very sour lemon, for he can barely hide his grimace as he bows his head. “Without any doubt, the cultural differences of the kingdom make it what it is. As for religious issues, one should wish for unity, your majesty.”

“I would not say so,” Victor replies, and those around him can see the change in the king’s posture and hear the shift in his voice. “Those following the old faith have been the most loyal to the crown ever since, compared to the provinces where the new ways are more prominent.”

Before the high priest can say anything, Victor has risen from his chair and holds out his hand to Yuuri. “But today is not a day to debate religion or political issues,” he says and Yuuri takes his hand as he stands up as well. “Today is meant to celebrate the unity that we have, with music, dance, and fireworks. Which are about to start, I presume.” He pats Yuuri’s hand that now rests on his arm before he nods at the high priest again. “Your excellency.”

The high priest bows as the king walks away from the table with his mistress on his arm, under the watchful eyes of the entire court that have witnessed the scene. No one can deny that it was a masterful solution to force the high priest to acknowledge the king’s official mistress without introducing the omega to him first. Victor knows it, too, and he cannot help but feel smug about it as he takes Yuuri outside to the balcony to watch the fireworks that will begin soon.

Only as they are outside lets Yuuri out a shaky sigh. “Oh, Victor,” he whispers and briefly touches his own chest. “My heart is racing still. I have never been looked at with such snideness.”

Victor kisses the top of his head. “Do not think about the high priest. What he thinks of you is not of relevance.”

“Of course not,” Yuuri says, “I do not want him to like me. But what if my presence here harms your reputation?”

Victor chuckles and turns to take both of Yuuri’s hands into his own. “If anything, you flatter my reputation. Did you not see how they all admired you as we danced together? How jealous they were of me, that I was the one to hold you?”

“Of course I did not notice, Mylord,” Yuuri says truthfully, “for I was only looking at you.”

“As you should.” Victor leans in and kisses him on the lips, not caring that there are a few courtiers around and watching them with unveiled curiosity. As he pulls away, Yuuri’s cheeks are adorned with a beautiful blush, and Victor is certain it is spreading down all the way to his navel.

“Shall we watch the fireworks together, my sweet?”

Yuuri’s eyes shine brightly as he nods. “Please, Mylord.”

Victor takes Yuuri down a few steps to a large balcony that opens up towards the palace walls, offering a stunning view of the capital. Even from up here, one can hear the music, the singing, the celebrations of the ordinary people. Just like the people in the palace, they enjoy the festivities, in their hearts now the words of the king that promises them a better life. A better future.

“Oh my!” Yuuri gasps as the fireworks begin, lights of all colours appearing above them, the sound of their explosions drawing everyone’s attention towards the sky.

Victor smiles and pulls Yuuri close, his back against his chest as he holds him. “All of this is for you,” he whispers into his ear. “For my most precious darling. My beloved maîtresse. The one who owns my heart.”

“Victor,” Yuuri breathes and turns his head, just enough to meet his gaze. “How could I possibly deserve this?”

“Do not question it,” Victor tells him gently and presses a kiss to his lips. “Only claim it as yours.”

Yuuri’s eyes shine bright as Victor pulls away again, and he nods before looking back up at the illuminated night sky.

“I must admit that it felt rather strange to meet ambassador Morooka again under these circumstances,” He says after a while as he leans further into the king’s embrace.

“Why?” Victor asks curiously. “I thought he was a friend of your family.”

“That he is indeed, yes,” Yuuri says. “But he also used to be my suitor. I had just come of age when he asked my mother and father for my hand in marriage. Had my sister not told me, I would have never known.”

Victor, who has found the man rather pleasant so far, now cannot deny that he feels jealous at the thought of Yuuri ever being with someone else, not even in theory. Especially not with someone like Morooka. Of course, the man seems to come from a good family, and would be surely able to provide for a mate, but he certainly could never be good enough for Yuuri.

Not now, not ever.

Yuuri looks back at him again through his eyelashes, suddenly seeming rather shy. “Have I offended you by telling you this, Mylord?”

“Not at all,” Victor assures him and kisses his forehead. “Your honesty honours you, my sweet. I should not be surprised that you had a suitor. After all, you told me about your admirers before. Not that they matter anymore.”

“Indeed, they do not,” Yuuri agrees and leans into the king’s touch. “How could they? Now that I am loved by the one who is the most kind, most gentle, and most gracious?”

“Oh, you are a master of flattery,” Victor sighs and grasps Yuuri’s chin gently. “But I am glad that they do no longer matter to you. I would not be able to bear the thought of someone else occupying your mind.”

“Never, Mylord,” Yuuri whispers, and in his eyes, there is fierce determination and devotion. “Never.”

“Your majesty?”

They look up, Victor’s hand slowly letting go of Yuuri. Of all the people that could be the unfortunate soul to interrupt them, it is Chris. His expression is apologetic as he approaches them and bows his head in greeting. “Forgive me, your majesty, but a messenger has just arrived with news from the south. Duke Yakov insists-“

“I know,” Victor says and suppresses a sigh. A messenger coming with news from the south is an important matter, even on a night like this. A night he would rather spend with Yuuri, worshipping him the way he deserves. “Tell my uncle I will be there in a moment.”

Chris nods and walks away again, leaving the king and his mistress behind.

Victor sighs, audibly this time.

“I know you have to go,” Yuuri says softly and takes Victor’s hand. “Do not worry about me, Vitya.”

“I’m sorry, my sweet,” Victor says in deep regret. “I wish I could spend this night with you.”

“You are the king,” Yuuri says and gives Victor’s hand a tender squeeze. “I know I do not have the right to demand your attention to be all mine.”

“You have every right,” Victor replies and cups Yuuri’s cheeks, kissing him lovingly, pouring his heart out to him in the intimate gesture. He can only hope that Yuuri feels it, understands it, in the very same way.

“I will send my aunt Lilia out here,” he says as he pulls away again, and oh, he regrets it so much. “She shall escort you back to your rooms.”

“Yes, Vitya,” Yuuri whispers and then blushes. “Will you… will you come to me tonight?”

Victor gently runs his thumb across Yuuri’s fine cheekbone. “I don’t know how long this will take, my sweet. Do not stay up for my sake, please.”

Yuuri nods in understanding as Victor lets go of him, but not without pressing another kiss to his forehead before walking away, the weight of the crown already pressing down on him again.

To know that there is someone, that there is Yuuri – it makes it all bearable.

* * *

As the sun rises over the capital the next day, the king has still not gotten any sleep. His mind is still occupied with work, with what the messenger has told him, with what his councillors have advised him, what they have urged him to do next.

They are with him still, all of them equally tired, but unlike him, far too fond of solutions found by a blade. Yes, they are very much in favour of war actions in order to end this rebellion, only one or two of them preferring the more peaceful options like Victor. No, Victor really does not want to sacrifice loyal soldiers for nothing, not as long as there is the hope that they might find a peaceful solution, without more bloodshed.

He is very much alone in this view.

Even his uncle prefers the sword over the word in this matter.

But in the end, none of these men have to make the final decision. None of them has the final say. No matter what will happen, no matter whether they win or lose, it will all come down to him, Victor. He will be made responsible for either outcome.

“It is high time that we show them once and for all that we will not negotiate with terrorists. That is what they are. Terrorists. And for those there is only one answer. We must fight now, your majesty, before it is too late.”

Victor clasps his hands, looking down at the map on the table before him.

“They must realise that their demands will never be fulfilled, not in this life, and not in the next! These savages have murdered their way through the blockade lines, proud and loyal soldiers have died in the process! We cannot let this go unpunished, your majesty.”

“Something has to happen. Soon.”

The king closes his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. It is hard to stay awake, hard to stay focused, when there is too much wine in his blood and his beloved waiting for him. In those moments, he despises the crown even more, for it keeps him away from the one he loves, away from what makes life worth living.

War in itself is so utterly pointless.

He sighs. “Can we… can we perhaps send an ambassador—”

“Your majesty!” A minister says firmly and places his hands on the table. “An ambassador would only get murdered right away by these savages. They have shown us over and over again that they are not interested in a peaceful solution. We must act now!”

The war minister pushes a map of the southern provinces towards the king. “We can get our troops there in seven days’ time if we start preparing right now. There will be even more if we have the troops from over here join them. It should be enough to keep them at bay until the troops from the north join them as well.”

“Your majesty,” an advisor says and steps closer. “I urge you, think clearly. We must—”

“How can I think clearly when I have been awake for twenty-eight hours now!” Victor barks and slams his fist on the table. “What am I to you? An apparatus?”

He sinks back into his chair and rubs his eyes in utter exhaustion.

Yakov says something to them, but what it is, Victor cannot tell. His head is spinning, his ears are ringing and his heart is beating far too fast in his chest to be healthy. All he notices is that the councillors and ministers are finally leaving the room, that they are finally leaving him alone, forced to wait for his decision for some more time. At the very least until he has slept.

“Here.”

Yakov pushes a cup of water in his hand, and Victor drinks it without thinking. It does little to keep him awake, but it soothes his spirits at least to some degree. He should drink less wine. Especially when he is upset or stressed.

Lilia has said so, and so has Anatoly, and Yuuri surely does not like it either.

He hears Yakov open a window, and the cool breeze of the morning touches his face. What he usually enjoys when waking up in bed with Yuuri at his side he now finds disturbing, and he scrunches his nose in annoyance.

“They can wait another day,” Yakov mutters and takes a seat at the table. “Both the ministers and the rebels. You should get some sleep.”

“I know,” Victor murmurs.

“But I have something to say first.”

Yakov’s expression is as stoic as always as Victor raises his head to look at him, but he can tell that there is something that his uncle is not happy about.

“Can this not wait?” Victor sighs and gets up with the cup of water in his hand, walking slowly to the window where the carafe of water stands. He puts the cup down next to it. “I wish to sleep.”

He closes the window again and yawns, thinking of the warm bed that will await him now – of the warm body that he will feel pressed against his own. Of the kisses that Yuuri will, without any doubt, press to his cheek and neck.

Yuuri, who will take care of him.

“I don’t like what I am seeing, Victor,” Yakov says, ignoring his request entirely. “How you treat this omega. Showing yourself with him in public as if he were your consort already. Do you have any idea what impression this gives people?”

Victor turns around on the spot, glaring at his uncle. “It gives them the impression that I am very happy, uncle! Which I am! I have never been this happy as I am now with Yuuri at my side. And I do not care whether you approve of him or not. He is the light of my life, and I am proud to share my happiness with the world. If you do not like that, look elsewhere, like those before you.”

Yakov’s eyes widen. “Vitya—”

“No,” Victor says and turns on his heel again, heading towards the door. “Yuuri is not up for discussion.”

With that, he leaves his uncle behind, determination in his step as he makes his way back to his rooms. He does not turn around, not even as Yakov calls after him. Of course, it is causing somewhat of a scene, the king walking away from his study with his uncle calling his name, but Victor could not have cared less. His head has begun to hurt a long time ago, and now all Victor wants is to get the sleep he deserves.

No one stops him, fortunately, as he reaches Yuuri’s rooms and steps inside as carefully as possible. Although it is early in the morning and the sun is already rising, it is blissfully quiet in Yuuri’s chambers. Not even the dogs stir as he carefully closes the door, both of them curled up on the carpet by the fireplace. It is as if time has stopped in here, as the world has been shut out, and there is only blissful peace awaiting him.

The king cannot help but smile softly as he finds his concubine in bed, sleeping peacefully under the covers. Only his dark hair is visible, as well as his pale hand that rests beside him on the pillow as he evenly breathes, undisturbed by the world.

If there were only a way, Victor thinks, to preserve this moment forevermore.

Yuuri instinctively curls up against him as Victor joins him in bed, his warmth instantly soothing Victor’s racing heart.

He falls asleep within minutes.

* * *

The moment Yuuri wakes, he feels that something is wrong.

Not much time has passed since Victor has joined him in bed, with Yuuri having woken for just a moment to register his presence, and to seek comfort in his arms before allowing sleep to claim him anew. But now, the day has come, and the moment Yuuri opens his eyes, he knows that he must turn to Victor.

For Victor lies beside him in bed, his face pale and pearls of sweat on his forehead which is hot to Yuuri’s touch.

“Vitya,” he breathes and takes his beloved’s face into his hands. “Vitya!”

Victor stirs and lets out a small groan, his eyes opening just a bit and meeting Yuuri’s gaze after a moment of searching. “Yuuri...?”

“You have a fever,” Yuuri says worriedly and brushes a strand of hair out of Victor’s face, his fingertips tracing the king’s cheekbone.

Victor closes his eyes again and sighs. “I don’t feel well…”

“I know,” Yuuri whispers and kisses his forehead. “Guang Hong!” He calls, and Victor winces at the sudden loudness. Fortunately, the servant hears him right away and comes in, freezing in the doorframe as he finds Yuuri kneeling over Victor.

“Please fetch his majesty’s healer,” Yuuri says, having no time to change anything about his posture for the sake of decency. “And Anatoly, his majesty’s valet. Do both as discretely as you can.”

“Y-Yes, your grace,” Guang Hong stutters and shuts the door behind him.

“I don’t need a healer,” Victor mumbles, his hand searching for Yuuri’s, but only coming as far as to grab his shift. “Need you…”

“I’m here, my love,” Yuuri whispers and kisses him again, just enough to distract Victor so he can climb off him and out of bed, and over to the washing basin that is filled with water. He grabs a cloth and soaks it in the water for a moment before he returns to Victor’s side, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Now that his eyes have accustomed to the morning light, Yuuri can see how pale the king actually is, with red spots on his cheeks and forehead that are proof of his fever.

It is the most terrifying sight Yuuri has ever seen.

“Let me cool your forehead, Vitya,” he says softly and dabs the skin with the cold cloth. “The healer will be here to take care of you soon.”

Victor opens his mouth to reply, but instead, he begins to cough, and coughs so heavily that it shakes Yuuri to the core. “I—” Victor tries to speak, but the cough shakes him so much that he bends over and grabs the edge of the mattress.

All that Yuuri can do is to hold him, and pretend that he is not terrified.

Anatoly arrives first, the ever-loyal valet that he is, and he kneels down beside the bed and lifts Victor up by the shoulders. “Oh, your majesty,” he says softly as he pushes Victor back against the pillows with Yuuri’s help and grabs the cold cloth that Yuuri has set aside for the moment, placing it over Victor’s forehead.

“Can you breathe, Mylord?” Yuuri asks worriedly, touching Victor’s chest that rises and falls far too heavily. Victor only nods lightly, his eyes still closed as he leans back. Anatoly takes his wrist, feeling his pulse.

“When did he go to bed, your grace?” Anatoly asks and looks at Yuuri, who feels incredibly helpless as he holds Victor’s cold hand.

“Just a few hours ago,” Yuuri says quietly, never taking his eyes off the king. “The sun had already begun to rise…”

Anatoly nods, looking up as the door opens anew and Guang Hong returns with the healer, who has apparently dressed in a hurry and is still wearing his slippers. The old man quickly bows to Yuuri and Victor, who could not have cared less about the protocol in this moment, and then approaches the bed.

“Your majesty, can you hear me?” The old man asks.

“Yes,” Victor mutters, turning his head away. “Your voice is too loud.”

Anatoly and the healer exchange a knowing look that confuses Yuuri, but before he can ask, the healer takes away the cold cloth and feels Victor’s hot forehead. Just then, Victor coughs again, not as heavily as before, but enough to lean forward and grasp the hands of both Anatoly and Yuuri.

“There, there,” the healer says in a calming manner and patiently waits until Victor is able to breathe again before he says: “I fear you have overworked yourself again, your majesty.”

“Nonsense,” Victor murmurs, but Anatoly raises an eyebrow, and Yuuri knows that the healer is right, too. Victor has not slept much recently, has worked long and incredibly hard, and has had so many things on his mind that Yuuri had often not known what to do with him.

It was only natural, then, that his body would eventually demand rest.

“Bedrest is what you need now, your majesty,” the healer says and Anatoly nods in confirmation. “Bedrest for at least four days. A week, perhaps. I shall prepare a soothing mixture for you against the cough, and something that will help you sleep. The usual procedure. Now, your majesty, if I might take a look at your back…”

Yuuri moves out of the way and out of bed, grabbing his dressing gown and putting it on before turning to Anatoly.

“The usual procedure?” He asks with a frown.

Anatoly clasps his hands behind his back. “His majesty has always had a tendency to overwork himself,” he explains quietly whilst the healer helps Victor to lie on his stomach so that he can examine his back. “It has happened before that he woke with a fever and a cough after weeks of hard work. It should be cured with bedrest and enough sleep, as well as the medicine of our healer.” He gives Yuuri a warm, reassuring smile. “His majesty is not of a delicate constitution, your grace. I am certain he will recover in no time.”

The valet’s words are indeed comforting to Yuuri, and he manages to nod and whisper a small “thank you” at the man before returning to Victor’s side, not caring that the healer is still busy with him, and kneels down by the bed.

“Your majesty will surely recover soon,” the healer says as he steps back and bows his head. “I shall prepare the medicine for you and give it to your valet.”

Victor mutters something under his breath that sounds very much like a whiny complaint, but Yuuri gently runs his hand through Victor’s hair and kisses his forehead, not caring about the presence of the other men. Once they have left, he moves to sit down on the edge of the mattress again and strokes Victor’s cheek. “The usual procedure, hm.”

The king opens his eyes a little, but it is enough to let Yuuri see that he feels at least somewhat guilty.

“I did not mean to upset you, my sweet,” Victor says softly and takes Yuuri’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I know,” Yuuri sighs. “Your aunt already told me that you tend to work too hard. But I did not think you would fall ill from it. You must be careful.” He bows his head and brings Victor’s hand to his lips. “I could not bear to see you seriously ill.”

“That won’t happen,” Victor assures him with a small cough. “Oh my… this comes at a most unfortunate time, my sweet.”

“Oh?” Yuuri frowns, adjusting the cold cloth on Victor’s forehead. “Is there something important going on with the council?”

“That too, but…” Victor clears his throat. “I had hoped to take you to the theatre in Petersburg.”

“We’ll do that once you are feeling better,” Yuuri says. “Let us wait for the medicine, and then you can rest.”

“Will you stay with me, my sweet?” Victor asks, his voice so tender that it makes Yuuri’s heart ache.

Yuuri nods and leans down to kiss him on the lips. “Until you feel better.”

* * *

The king’s cough becomes worse.

At first, Yuuri does not notice anything out of the ordinary. He takes care of Victor day and night, not leaving his side, not even when he sleeps, and he is sure that Victor will feel better soon. His mother has often taken care of people with similar symptoms, and when it is a mild case like Victor’s, there is not much that one has to do except for drinking water and sleeping.

After three days and no improvement, he begins to worry a little, but Victor is still speaking to him when he is awake. He eats, too, mostly the soup that Anatoly brings three times a day. The healer is confident that all Victor needs is more sleep and more medicine, and Anatoly advises Yuuri to trust the man’s judgement.

But Victor can see that Anatoly is worried, too.

After a week, the courtiers begin to talk about the king’s absence, about the doors to the mistress’ bedroom that remain closed. Inside, Yuuri is hardly sleeping, sitting at Victor’s side day and night as the king’s cough gets worse and worse, and even the healer realises that perhaps the king is not overworked, but actually ill.

Yuuri has seen cases like Victor’s before, in the clinic of his mother. He knows what can happen, knows what is at stake, and it almost drives him insane. There are various medications that they could try, but half of the ingredients that Yuuri can think of are not available in Petersburg, as they only grow in the north. The healer consults others, brings them all to Yuuri’s chambers where Victor still rests, and they debate.

In the meantime, Yuuri sits by Victor’s side and holds his hand as he falls in and out of consciousness, his body fighting against the fever that refuses to go down, his hands hot and cold at the same time.

Never has Yuuri been more terrified.

He writes to his mother, sends the most reliable messenger that the palace has to offer, and hopes that she can reply in time, that she will have the advice they need.

In the meantime, there is nothing that they can do but wait.

And Yuuri thinks.

He thinks of what might happen if his greatest fear becomes reality, and what that is he does not even dare to imagine. The mere thought makes his heart ache painfully, causes his stomach to clench, and makes him feel nauseous. On the one hand, he is terrified of what he feels, not used to such strong emotions. But at the same time, they tell him what he has realised already at Lyubna, and what he still does not dare to believe.

He loves Victor.

He is loved by him in return.

And living without him has become impossible.

Ten days after Victor has fallen ill, Guang Hong knocks and enters the bedroom where Yuuri sits beside Victor, holding his hand and watching him sleep.

“Your grace?” The boy says hesitantly. “His excellency, the High Priest, is here.”

Yuuri does not even look up. “Tell him the king is not able to see him,” he says quietly.

Guang Hong is quiet for a moment. “He is here to see _you_ , your grace”

Yuuri turns his head.

Guang Hong looks just as confused as Yuuri feels, but they both know that they should not let one of the most important men in the kingdom wait. And so, Yuuri rises and reaches for his best dressing gown to look at least somewhat presentable, then heads to the door.

“Do not leave his side, please,” he says to Guang Hong, who nods and immediately takes Yuuri’s place by the bed.

Yuuri takes a deep breath and leaves the bedroom, entering the drawing room where the High Priest awaits him.

He is an old man, but Yuuri realises that it does not make the man any less intimidating. The heavy robes that the High Priest wears only add to that, showing his status as well as his power to everyone that dares to look at him.

What Yuuri finds most frightening about him, however, are his eyes.

They are cold, entirely emotionless as Yuuri comes in and their eyes meet, and the High Priest bows to him that is just appropriate enough.

“Your excellency,” Yuuri says and curtsies. “Good afternoon.”

“Your grace,” the High Priest says curtly and nods, studying him briefly. “How is his majesty?”

“He is asleep, I’m afraid,” Yuuri says. “Please forgive my state of dress, your excellency. I have not left his majesty’s side.”

“I see,” the High Priest says. “Is his condition still critical?”

Yuuri swallows thickly and pales at the blunt speech of the High Priest, who dares to ask the question that everyone thinks but no one dares to speak.

“His majesty is still not feeling better, your excellency,” Yuuri says softly and sinks down on the sofa to his right. “He has been awake for a while last night, but he still has a fever.”

“I understand,” the High Priest says and glances at the door that leads to the bedroom. “There are things that I wished to discuss with his majesty before the Peace Festivities, but in these uncertain times, it is probably best if I bring it up to you instead, your grace.”

Yuuri blinks. “I do not know anything about government matters, I’m afraid,” he says.

“These are not government matters, your grace,” the High Priest says, and only now Yuuri notices that the man is holding a book under his arm. It is large and heavy, like the books he has seen at the monastery near Lyubna. “I could not help but notice that you do not share the king’s faith.”

Yuuri stares at the man, not sure whether to be shocked at the fact he is addressing this private matter in the first place, or that he finds this to be an appropriate time to bring it up.

“I have the faith of my mother and father,” he says, clasping his hands on his lap. “The old faith.”

“I am aware of that,” the High Priest says. “His majesty was raised in the new way. The holy father and the holy mother have been of comfort to him ever since. And to many other people in the realm as well. I do not think I have to tell you that the circumstance that you do not share the king’s faith… worries some parties.”

Yuuri frowns. “I do not understand why that would worry anyone,” he says. “His majesty and I do never speak of religion.”

“I thought as much,” the High Priest says. “It is of utter importance that His Majesty is not misled in either personality or faith. The fact that you do not share his faith has led to some members of the clergy and the court to believe that he is being… led astray.”

Yuuri’s hands grab the fabric of the dressing gown as he tries to compose himself, tries to stay calm.

“Your excellency,” he begins as carefully as he can, “I would never—”

“I think,” a voice says and is followed by a cough, causing both Yuuri and the High Priest to turn around. Victor stands in the door, holding onto the doorframe for support, pale as a sheet but with a hint of colour in his cheeks. “Last time I read up on religion in our realm… we had religious freedom.”

“Victor!” Yuuri breathes and immediately rises, rushing over to the king to wrap his arm around his waist. “Mylord, you should not be up!”

But Victor only lowers his head and kisses the top of Yuuri’s hair. It is the first gesture of affection Yuuri has received within days, and he almost weeps at the tenderness of his beloved.

“Your majesty,” the High Priest says and bows deeply to him. “I am very glad to see that you are feeling better.”

Yuuri reaches up to touch Victor’s forehead, his eyes wide. “Your fever broke?”

Victor nods lightly, still looking at the High Priest.

“In our kingdom,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly firm for a man who should be in bed and sleeping through an illness, “there is religious freedom. This applies not only to the people here in Petersburg. It applies to all people in our realm. My Yuuri is one of these people. And he will believe in whatever he pleases.”

“Of course,” the High Priest says and bows his head. “I was merely explaining to him that he is very welcome to pursue any potential interest in the faith of His Majesty—”

“I know what you were explaining to him,” Victor says with a rough voice, and then coughs again, but it no longer sounds as threatening as it used to. “And I can assure you that he is not leading me astray. But I wonder what is leading you astray in my loyalty to me these days.” He coughs again, harder this time, and Yuuri grasps his arms.

“Please, Mylord, you must go back to bed,” he begs him, and as if the gods had asked him, Anatoly comes in, followed by the healer for his daily visit, and on their faces appears immense relief at the sight of the king being up and speaking.

“His majesty will speak to you another time, your excellency,” the healer says, and Yuuri is grateful that he does, giving him and Anatoly time to lead Victor back to bed. Makkachin runs in, barking in excitement, her tail wagging at impossible speed as she jumps up at Victor’s legs and showers him with her wet kisses.

“Oh Victor,” Yuuri breathes and takes Victor’s hand once he can, sitting down at his side. “How are you feeling?”

“Unbelievably miserable,” Victor sighs and coughs again, but it is just a slight one. “When have I bathed last, I wonder?”

“One week ago, your majesty,” Anatoly says and steps aside to let the healer come closer.

“Goodness,” Victor murmurs and holds remarkably still as the healer examines him. “Wait…” He looks at Yuuri. “I was unconscious for a week?”

“For almost ten days,” Yuuri says quietly and kisses his hand. “But you are awake now.”

“A great blessing indeed,” the healer says and sits back, the wooden stethoscope in his hands. “Your majesty, I must admit that I underestimated your illness. It seems that your lungs have been greatly affected.”

Yuuri pales. “Is that serious?”

“It needs proper treatment,” the healer says.

Victor sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. “What do you suggest?”

“A change of climate,” the healer says and stands. “As soon as possible. Perhaps a stay at one of your residences in the south might be—”

“No,” Yuuri says immediately. “There is a rebellion in the south. The king cannot possibly go there.”

The healer falls silent, nodding in understanding.

Anatoly clears his throat.

“What about Lord Giacometti’s estate?” He suggests. “It is by the sea, and the climate is mild enough. In fact, the area is known to be beneficial for health issues.”

The healer blinks. “Well… I believe this might be suitable. Your majesty?”

But Victor is only looking at Yuuri, holding his hand, and pulls him closer to let their foreheads touch.

Anatoly clears his throat, and he and the healer leave as they realise that the king and his mistress need this moment to themselves.

Neither Victor nor Yuuri know for how long they stay like this, for how long they remain silent. Words are not needed, but Yuuri longs to hear them – longs to hear Victor’s voice, his gentle promises of his affection.

“Will you come with me,” Victor whispers and his lips brush Yuuri’s, “and help me heal?”

Yuuri kisses him back, with outmost care and tenderness. “I will follow you to the end of the world, my love.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, the chapter count went up AGAIN but I think now I know how much space I'll need to finish this fic.  
> It was never meant to become that long in the first place, but you know how it is. These things get out of hand.
> 
> This time: a lot of travelling, a lot of talking, a lot of disgusting fluff. Brush your teeth afterwards to avoid permanent damage.

Of course, the king and his mistress do not depart to Lord Giacometti’s estate right away.

After a thorough examination by an entire army of healers – in fact, there have been three, but the king insists on complaining and exaggerating and his beloved lets him – the departure is delayed for a few days to give the king more time to regain at least some of his strength. It is very much needed, everyone silently agrees, for the king has become weak due to almost ten days of unconsciousness and has lost quite some weight. Although he is not skinny or underweight now by any means, everyone can see that the illness has taken its toll on his majesty’s body, and that his sleeping shirt sits looser than it should.

It is the king’s mistress who sees it the most, for he is the one who knows the king’s body like no other. Yuuri’s heart breaks as he watches his beloved lower himself into the warm water of the bathtub with the help of his valet, his collarbones standing out like a warning. Anatoly sees it too, but neither of them comment on it as they focus on helping Victor to feel better. And so, Yuuri sits by the tub and holds the king’s hand firmly between his own as Anatoly washes him with greatest care. Victor looks at his mistress, his blue eyes finally full of life again, and squeezes his hand just lightly. Of more, he is not capable at the moment, but it is enough. It is a sign that he is slowly getting better, and no matter how long it will take, Yuuri is determined to stay at his side.

The mere act of bathing, however, has exhausted Victor again, and he stand on unstable legs as he rises from the water and is dried down by Anatoly. Yuuri holds him by the arm, Victor’s hand on his shoulder as Anatoly works quickly and exchanges the towel in his hand for the king’s dressing gown. Victor sighs as he lifts his arms just enough to get them through the sleeves, leaving it to Yuuri to tie the belt and lead him back to bed. The moment he can lean back against the pillows, Yuuri can see how truly exhausted his beloved is, for Victor closes his eyes in an instant, and he puts his hand on Victor’s chest to feel his heartbeat.

“I feel like an old man,” Victor sighs as the blanket is put over his legs.

“You will recover, Mylord,” Yuuri says softly and withdraws his hand from Victor’s chest, sitting down by his side instead. “All you need is patience and the fresh air of the sea.”

“His grace is right,” Anatoly says as he comes to the bed with a bowl of soup in his hands. “That, and good meals.”

He puts the bowl down on the bedside table and leaves quietly to give the king and his mistress the privacy they deserve. Once he is outside, Victor opens his eyes again. He looks incredibly tired.

“I have never been this ill,” he says quietly. “Everything aches. My head. My arms, my hands, my feet. Even my toes.”

Yuuri gently runs his hand over Victor’s arm. “Illnesses like that can take a toll on one’s body,” he says softly, “I’m afraid not even a king is exempt from it.”

“But it should not be so,” Victor murmurs, stubborn as ever, and lifts his hand just enough to play with the hem of Yuuri’s sleeve. “What will my people think?”

Yuuri catches his hand and brings it to his lips. “They will think that their beloved king is only human, too. They see that you suffer just like them, that you are like them in every way. And you will come out of this stronger than before, my love.” He presses another kiss to Victor’s knuckles before he puts the king’s hand down again.

Victor looks as if he wants to say something in return, something of disagreement, but decides against it. Instead, he eyes the bowl of soup that has now cooled down a bit.

Yuuri follows his gaze and smiles. “Are you hungry?”

“Not much,” Victor admits, “but I need the strength.”

At least in that regard does he seem sensible enough. Yuuri takes the bowl and the spoon, breathing in the hearty smell of the soup as he begins to feed Victor.

It is an odd picture, for sure, but one of such intimacy that if an outsider were to watch, they would turn away their heads in sheer embarrassment. For the trust and the affection that exists between the king and his mistress is there for everyone to see, both of them looking at each other in utter adoration and devotion. The king is wax in the hands of his mistress, even more so now as he is tied to the bed due to illness. But even if he were healthy right now, there would not be another place where he would rather be. The same goes for the young man at his side.

After the meal, they sleep, and Yuuri remains at the king’s side.

Of course, he has been offered to sleep in the king’s bedroom for the time being, as Victor is resting in Yuuri’s chambers. But the offer had been discarded right away when Yuuri had pulled a face at the suggestion and had declared he would not leave the king alone. And so, they share the bed as they always do, and Yuuri warms Victor with his body in the most innocent way that there is. At night, he gets up to help Victor when he needs him, holds him when he coughs, brings him water and milk to soothe his throat.

It makes rounds at the palace, of course, and although there are still a lot of people who find this sort of behaviour rather improper, it also gains the young mistress quite a number of genuine admirers. He realises so when he goes to change into fresh clothing and is informed by Guang Hong that there have been several cards delivered to him exclusively. When he reads them, many of them are from young omegas just like him, not asking for anything, but expressing their admiration and their gratitude. One of them even writes that the king’s treatment of him has prompted several alphas at court to do the same with their mates, and that is what touches Yuuri the most. He tells Victor about it, and the king kisses him.

Almost a week after Victor’s fever had finally gone down, they receive a letter from Lord Giacometti, telling them that everything has been prepared for their arrival. In a small note, he asks Victor to travel with a small entourage, which Victor gladly agrees to, and so does Yuuri. And so, the royal train is actually rather small as they finally depart, with countless courtiers lining the courtyard to bid their king farewell.

Victor walks on his own as they head down from their rooms, his clothes loose on him but not too badly anymore. He wants to be seen as strong, wants to show his people that he is not weak and that an illness cannot bring him to his knees. But as they reach the stairs, he suddenly stops and turns around.

“Why are you walking behind me, my sweet?”

Yuuri blinks, almost stumbling over the hem of his travel attire.

“It... It is the protocol, Mylord,” he says with a small frown. And indeed, it is – for no one must walk right beside the king as his equal, except for the consort, of which Victor has none. Everyone else must walk behind the king in public. What they do in private, however, is an entirely different matter.

Right now, they are on their way outside, and thus, the eye of the public is on them in the form of guards and courtiers that await them at the bottom of the stairs.

“Utter nonsense,” Victor murmurs and shakes his head. “You will walk at my side. Right where you belong.” He offers Yuuri his arm, who takes it without hesitation.

It is a minor scandal indeed that the king’s mistress walks by his side, hangs on his arm the way a consort usually would, but no one dares to say a word. No one notices that it is actually Victor who holds onto Yuuri’s arm, and not the other way round. Yuuri might look small and weak compared to the king who is tall and usually a very imposing figure, but he is not as fragile as he looks. No, he possesses more than enough strength to support Victor as they walk out into the courtyard and towards the carriage where Duke Yakov stands and watches them with a strange expression on his face. He bows his head as Victor comes closer, and Victor reaches out to touch his uncle’s arm.

“I know that everything will be in safe hands with you,” he says. “I will come back as soon as I can.”

Yakov nods barely noticeably. “Focus on your health,” he says and briefly glances at Yuuri. “You have duties that await you here.”

“As if I could ever forget them,” Victor says and pats his uncle’s arm a bit too firmly to be just a casual gesture, then climbs into the carriage. Yuuri follows, and the moment the doors are closed, Victor lets out a heavy sigh of exhaustion and reaches for his collar. Yuuri helps him loosen it, holding his hand as Victor takes deep, even breaths to soothe his racing heart. The frustration about his physical condition is clear on his face, but right now, there is very little they can do about it. They can only hope that the change of climate will bring the promised relief and help the king recover.

No one hopes that more than Yuuri.

They leave the palace through the gates that open up to the city, for the people of Petersburg to see. They cheer and call the king’s name at the sight of the carriage, and Victor looks out of the window, waves at them, showing his face. It is important to do so, especially in times like these where rumours spread like wildfire. The very last thing Victor needs is for his people to think that he is sick and weak. And so, he waves and smiles at his people, reaches out of the carriage window and touches the hands of the children that run along with the vehicle. They laugh and their faces light up, and Victor feels Yuuri’s hand on the small of his back – encouraging him, praising him, entirely without words.

A king that connects with his people.

Just weeks ago, this would have been entirely unthinkable.

As they leave the city behind, Victor leans back on his seat and reaches over to take Yuuri’s hand, and once more, he marvels at how small Yuuri’s hand is compared to his own. But those hands possess the most wonderful powers – they comfort, they pleasure, they heal. All because Yuuri is good, because Yuuri is kind and genuine at heart, those hands would never be used to hurt him. And so, Victor brings Yuuri’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles before putting it down right on his thigh. He runs his thumb over the golden ring that he has gifted Yuuri a while ago and that Yuuri wears every day. In a better world, Victor thinks, it would be their engagement ring – or wedding ring, even.

Either way, the love it stands for would stay the same.

“You are smiling,” Yuuri says softly, in that voice and tone that he reserves for their most private moments only, when there are no titles, no honours between them. “What are you thinking?”

Victor squeezes his hand. “I am so grateful to have you with me, my sweet,” he says. “That I get the chance to spend time with you away from the palace again. Where no one disturbs us.”

“Lord Giacometti and his mate will be there,” Yuuri reminds him, “it will not be like Lyubna.”

“Maybe not,” Victor agrees, “but no friend of mine is closer to my heart than Chris. And his mate, Phichit, is a wonderful companion to him, and I like him very much. I am sure you will become good friends with him. Their love for one another developed under similarly peculiar circumstances, you must know.”

“Oh?” Yuuri tilts his head to the side. “How so?”

“Chris used to be my ambassador for the eastern islands,” Victor explains. “They are a rich territory, beautiful, with a long and complicated history. When Chris’ father was still alive, he arranged a marriage for him, to a beautiful omega from the islands. But when Chris got there to meet his bride, he fell in love with the young man that served the lady of the house as a companion. Naturally, Chris’ father was furious, for the marriage would have secured an alliance with this particular family. It took me quite some time to convince old Lord Giacometti that the Chulanont family was an equally appropriate match. Phichit’s family was surprised, but as they were looking for a suitable match for their youngest son anyway, they agreed rather quickly.”

“And Phichit?” Yuuri asks. “What did he think of it?”

“Of course, I can only tell you what Chris has told me,” Victor says with a small smile, “but according to him, Phichit responded to his advances quite eagerly. I do not doubt that. For when the marriage negotiations became too complicated, they decided to, ah, speed things up a bit so that their families could no longer say no.”

Yuuri frowns. “What do you mean, they decided to speed things up a bit?”

Victor gives him a long, knowing look with a hint of amusement.

Yuuri’s eyes widened slowly. “O-Oh,” he breathes and blushes in an instant. “That… that must have been quite the scandal.”

Victor laughs. “Oh, my sweet, you have no idea. But it did indeed speed things up quite a lot, and Chris and Phichit were married in no time. Just seven months later, their children were born. Twins, a boy and a girl. You can imagine how people talked. Marrying the servant of the bride, fathering two children at once… quite a lot of people accused them of witchcraft.” He chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief at the rumour. “But they are very happy together. Chris was quite the, ah, lively young man before he got married, but I believe that Phichit helped him to settle down. Their third child was born about one year ago. Another boy, I think. I haven’t seen the child yet.” He sighs wistfully at the thought of his best friend, at the memories of their shared youth. Never has he envied him, not even once. But he could not deny that when Chris had gotten married, and when he had seen how Chris and Phichit looked at each other, he had felt a sting in his chest. A sting that no longer is there, a sting that has been replaced with a much sweeter pain.

And he feels it each time Yuuri smiles at him, each time Yuuri kisses him, each time Yuuri cries out in lust in his arms.

He feels it now, too, as Yuuri leans against him and rests his head on his shoulder. “I cannot wait to meet them,” he says, “these people that you hold most dear.”

Victor smiles softly and lowers his head to kiss Yuuri’s hair. “But you already know Chris,” he reminds him gently. “And you like him.”

“I do, I do,” Yuuri agrees softly and looks up. “But I have yet to get to know him in a private setting. And his mate, too. I hope they will like me.”

“Of course they will like you!” Victor exclaims and immediately begins to cough again, so much that he has to grip the edge of the seat and Yuuri has to hold him, rubbing his back soothingly. But that is not what concerns Victor, no. How could anyone ever not like his Yuuri? How could people not like the one that makes the king the most happy of them all?

“Here,” Yuuri says and gives Victor a bottle with water, “drink slowly.”

The water soothes his throat and helps him to calm down, but it also reminds him of the fact that he is still ill. His chest aches as he leans back on his seat, but it is soothed as Yuuri puts his hand on his chest. Of course, Victor knows that Yuuri does not possess any magical healing powers, but it very much feels like it.

“Better?” Yuuri asks.

Victor nods and puts the bottle aside, then cups Yuuri’s cheek and pulls him in for a kiss. It is sweet and tender, slow, with all the patience in the world for there is nothing that could possibly disturb them in here. And thus, Yuuri responds so wonderfully, parting his lips as Victor’s touch his own, allowing him in as his eyes fall shut. Victor sighs, reaches out to grab Yuuri by his waist and pulls him closer, almost onto his lap, feels the warmth of his body through the many layers of their clothing. It is the warmth that has brought him through the night, that has comforted him in his illness, the warmth that he never wants to miss again. And then, it is also the source of another warmth, of the desire they have for one another. Victor knows that it is true, for he can feel it now, feels it in the kiss, tastes it on Yuuri’s lips, feels the fire that pours from Yuuri’s fingertips as he holds onto him, his fingers tightly hooked into his clothing, and Victor wishes that they could just take them off, take them all off and submit to their hunger.

But his body won’t allow it, and Yuuri won’t permit it, and so, they must be patient.

No matter how painful the desire becomes.

As they break apart again to catch their breaths, and they finally come back to their senses, Victor’s suspicions are confirmed. Yuuri is breathing just as heavily as him, giving away his desire, and the moment their eyes meet, the omega blushes even more and licks his lips.

If Victor could only ravish him right here, right now.

“I have never desired you more than I do now,” Victor whispers to him and closes his eyes, resting his forehead against Yuuri’s. He hears his mistress exhale shakily, feels him move closer to him, as close as is possible in the small carriage. “I cannot wait to have you again.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri breathes and their lips find each other again, now with the passion and fervour that they know of each other, and oh, it would be so simple to give in to their desires now. But Victor holds himself back, even though he hates it, and he breaks their kiss before it can escalate further.

“I know, I know,” Victor breathes as Yuuri whines in frustration, and he puts his hand in Yuuri’s nape, pressing gentle kisses to Yuuri’s temples and cheeks. “But I cannot… I cannot worship you the way you deserve in my current state. No matter how much I wish to.”

Yuuri swallows thickly, he looks as if he were about to protest, as if the words were just about to come over his lips. But he closes his eyes, just for a moment, as if to calm himself. “I know,” he whispers then, and it almost breaks the king’s heart as he opens his eyes again, in them both hope and frustration. “I will be patient, Vitya.” His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from Victor’s face, gently tucking it away behind his ear. “You must heal first. I must not be selfish and demand…”

Victor shakes his head and brushes his nose against Yuuri’s. “Do you not know,” he whispers, “that I am yours entirely? That you have the right to ask, to wish, to demand everything of me, my sweet?”

Yuuri swallows thickly and buries his face in Victor’s shoulder, his arms coming around the king’s neck, the gesture alone proof of the intimacy and trust between the sovereign and his beloved mistress. And the king holds him close, kisses his mistress’ hair, and speaks to him in the lowest of voices, for no one else but Yuuri to hear.

“I will take you to bed again soon, my sweet,” he whispers. “And then… I would be the most happy if you were to do me the greatest of honours and have my child.”

Yuuri pulls away in an instant.

His eyes are wide in what Victor is certain must be shock. Perhaps it has been the wrong moment, Victor thinks, to admit to what he has been thinking of in secret since the day he first took Yuuri to his bed. For it is true – he has been wanting to see Yuuri have his child since the beginning, and this wish has only grown stronger. And now, with Yuuri as his official mistress, it is most likely only a question of time. Sooner or later, he is certain, their days and nights of passion will lead to a little one. There is no doubt.

But Yuuri looks at him in shock, and Victor begins to wonder if this is what his beloved wants at all.

And then, Yuuri tears up, and Victor’s confusion only grows.

“What is it, my sweet?” He asks worriedly, one hand coming up to touch his beloved’s cheek. “My darling, why are you crying?”

Yuuri sniffs and then, he begins to smile, the most beautiful sight of them all to Victor. “You want me to have your child?” He asks with a breathless laugh and wipes away the tears that keep coming.

“I do,” Victor says with certainty, for he cannot see any reason why Yuuri could possibly doubt him, or his intentions. Has he not proven to him again and again that his intentions are entirely noble, that he loves Yuuri more than anything, that he cannot bear to be ever separated from him?

That there will never be anyone else?

“Yuuri, if you do not want that then we can—”

“Oh, Vitya,” Yuuri sighs and buries his face in Victor’s chest again. “Of course I want it. I want it so.”

The truth sinks in, and Victor feels unable to respond.

They do not speak until the carriage stops at the shore of the river to let the horses drink, and the king and his mistress take the opportunity to go for a walk. It is only a short one, and the king holds onto his mistress more than usual, but every step is one in the right direction, and brings the king back to health. Those that travel with them, the guards, the few servants, and all the others, they can all see that there is newfound intimacy between them. And although they are not supposed to look, they find themselves watching the king and his mistress as they walk along the shore of the river in quiet conversation. It is only interrupted as the dogs are let out, and Yuuri laughs as Makkachin and Vicchan run towards them, their tails wagging and showing their excitement. Indeed, for the dogs, the trip is just as exciting as it is for their masters, even if they do not understand the nature of it.

The night is spent at the manor of a very distant relative to the king, an old man that is almost blind and hears only half of what is being said to him, but his daughter-in-law welcomes them warmly and offers them a room for the night. It is probably the nicest bedchamber of them all, Yuuri thinks as he sits by the fireplace in his nightgown, the dogs at his feet, and listens to the sound of Victor’s breath as he sleeps. It is not that late at night yet, but the king is exhausted and has fallen asleep right away after dinner. Fortunately, the master of the house does not bother them much, and the early retreat to their chambers gives Yuuri time to think, and to reflect.

The meeting with the High Priest still sits in his bones, giving him an uneasy feeling whenever he thinks of it. He knows, of course, that he has done nothing wrong, and that the law, just like the king, is on his side. But now he knows what he has always suspected – the High Priest does not like him, merely tolerates his presence, and would very much prefer to see him gone. And for that to come, the man is looking for a good reason.

There are no things about Yuuri or his family that would be a cause for justified critique, no. The Katsuki family may be small and rather unimportant compared to the other High Houses of the realm, but they have always been loyal to the crown, with not a single traitor amongst them. In the north, they are known for their benevolence, for their kindness that they show especially towards the poor. In fact, Yuuri’s mother has visited the orphanages more often than anyone else, so much that she is called ‘Mother’ by every orphan in Hasetsu. His father pardons those that have been sentenced to prison for the silliest of crimes, giving them new chances in life. His sister is an acknowledged scholar, famous for her sharp tongue and a military genius. His grandparents have built schools and hospitals, his great-grandparents have made peace with the tribes from the Ice Islands. Not even once has the Katsuki family wanted more power, has never betrayed the crown, has never criticised the king. They have done their duty, and so has Yuuri as he had been sent to the palace as the traditional tribute.

The High Priest has nothing against Yuuri or his family in his hands.

And yet, Yuuri feels anxious each time he thinks of the man.

He takes Vicchan and places him on his lap, running his fingers through his thick fur. He would be able to understand jealousy if it were to come from other omegas at court, from those that have hoped to perhaps become the king’s consort. He would have understood jealousy from those yearning for power if he had been trying to influence the king in any political matters. But Yuuri has never done that, and does not plan to, for he knows that it is not his place. Victor is a good king, a just king, who tries his best every single day. He does not need to ask him for advice.

And yet, he sometimes does, and it moves Yuuri deeply, for he truly knows so very little of politics. But Victor trusts him, and listens to him, as if his word mattered just as much as his own.

Victor shifts in bed and slightly coughs, causing Yuuri to turn his head. But Victor does not wake up and keeps sleeping, his hand on Yuuri’s pillow. As if he were searching for him even in his sleep.

It is unbelievable, Yuuri thinks as his heart aches, how much Victor trusts him.

So much that he wants him to have his child. The very thing that would consolidate their relationship forevermore.

Yuuri’s hand drops to his belly out of instinct at the thought, and he begins to wonder what it would be like. Of course, he knows that for most people, children are inevitable if they are sharing the bed with someone, and since the king likes to have him in his bed almost every night, the possibility that he might conceive a child is very much real. But Yuuri has never given it a proper thought, has not dared to think that far, for it means so many things. It is an honour, of course, to have the king’s child. But it also means to be tied to the palace forever, and what it means for the child, Yuuri can only imagine. The rules of the court are so complicated that probably no one understands them all.

The sour feeling that has plagued Yuuri for almost two weeks now returns, and he reaches for the water on the table beside him to wash it away. His nerves have never been the best, and they are tormenting him now even more. It would be much easier if he were at home, if he were having the chance to speak to his mother about it, or to his godmother. Yes, Minako would know what to say, what words of advice to give to him.

But he is alone, and he does not want to share his worries with Victor under their current circumstances.

Carefully, he puts Vicchan down on the carpet and returns to the bed, slipping under the covers beside Victor. The king immediately reaches out for him in his sleep, pulls him closer and holds him tight in a loving embrace.

Just months ago, Yuuri would have never dared to imagine such a thing. Such love, such tenderness.

All of it meant for him only.

* * *

They continue their journey after breakfast, not without thanking the master of the house and his daughter-in-law, of course. The old man barely hears Victor as he almost yells into his ear, much to the amusement of the king and his mistress. They chuckle about it still when they are on the road again, and soon, the scenery changes, and they catch the first breaths of the fresh sea air just before noon.

Of course, there is the northern sea by Hasetsu’s shore, and Yuuri has grown up between water and trees, but every part of the kingdom is different, and the southern sea is nothing like what he knows from home. Even the colour is different, he has been told, for the sea of the north is of a dark grey, almost dark green on some days. Victor has told him about the south, about its beauty and how the sea has the colour of bright sapphires.

It is not an exaggeration. The moment they see the sea for the first time, Yuuri gasps, and Victor wraps an arm around his waist to hold him close so that he might not fall out of the window.

“Isn’t it marvellous?” He asks his mistress, who nods enthusiastically and closes his eyes to take a deep breath of the sea air.

“Oh, it is most marvellous indeed,” he breathes and turns around, let himself fall onto his seat again and leans into Victor’s embrace. “Thank you for bringing me here, Mylord.”

“No need to flatter me with my title, my sweet,” Victor reminds him softly and kisses him gently. “The southern sea is only one of so many places that I wish to show you. Just think of what else still awaits us. The golden cliffs. The sea of roses in the west. The ice waterfalls.” He squeezes his waist. “And Hasetsu, too.”

Yuuri’s eyes shine brightly. “You still wish to see my home?”

“Of course,” Victor says in earnest. “I want to see the place that my beloved calls his home, and that means so much to him. And I want to meet your family. Your mother, your father, and your sister. And your godmother, of course. Ah, what was her name again?”

“Okukawa Minako,” Yuuri replies. “Why?”

“Ah, you see, I was wondering where I had heard her name before,” Victor explains, “and I think that dear Christophe mentioned her to me once. We must ask him when we get there.”

Yuuri nods, and suddenly, a blush appears on his cheeks again, and he begins to brush non-existent dirt and dust from Victor’s shirt. “I hope I will not make a fool of myself,” he murmurs. “Meeting the High Priest was already a disaster…”

“I beg to differ,” Victor replies with a small frown, picks up Yuuri’s hand and kisses his fingertips. “This horrible man thought he could attack you when he thought you to be the most vulnerable, and yet, you managed to fence so finely with your words only. I am sure he will not bother you again so easily.”

Yuuri nods, but it is clearly not enough to wipe all the worries from his mind. Sometimes, Victor has noticed, Yuuri will fall silent when there are things that bother him and that he cannot find an answer or immediate solution for. Just like there will be a sparkle in his eyes when he is searching for something. He prefers said sparkle over the somber expression that he bears now, but it is not his place to judge how Yuuri feels. Of course, eternal happiness is what he wants for him, but even the pretty head of his mistress is sometimes occupied with the more challenging aspects of life.

In fact, it is what Victor loves very much about him.

Yuuri uses his wits, likes to think, and does not shy away from mental challenges.

That is not his job as the king’s official mistress – and Victor is aware that a lot of people would prefer to have Yuuri as a silent, obedient thing that only ever smiles and devotes himself to pleasing the king with his body – but were Yuuri not so, something fundamental would be missing.

It is who Yuuri is, and Victor would never want him in any other way.

“Victor,” Yuuri says then and looks up, “may I ask you something, to which you must only reply in complete and true honesty?”

Victor blinks. “Of course,” he says, “I would never lie to you.”

“But you would embellish your words in order to conceal their impact,” Yuuri gives back.

Well.

Victor shifts a little on his seat, but never lets go of Yuuri, his arm still secure around his waist. “Now I am worried,” he admits. “But yes. I shall answer in true honesty, my sweet.”

Yuuri nods. “Would it help you if I were to accept your faith as my own?”

“Would it—”

“Please, Victor.” Yuuri does not raise his voice, he only looks at him, begging him with his gaze to not shield him from any truth that there may be.

It is not an easy question to answer. Or rather, it is, but Victor hates every part of it. The situation is a difficult one, and simply saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’ does not do the matter justice.

“There is not a definite answer to this, Yuuri,” Victor eventually says. “It is true that in order to keep my power, I must keep the support of the clergy, and they are quite overbearing. Your presence and your faith from the North are a threat to them because they fear I might follow yours and thus, neglect theirs and perhaps come to the realisation that I might not need them. In that regard, yes. It would help me, politically, if you accepted my faith as yours. But I wish to honour the work of my ancestors, who have introduced religious freedom to our realm. What king would I be if my mistress were made to give up his faith in order to please a certain kind of clergy? Would that not mean that there is not really religious freedom if one of them can make such demands? In that regard, no. It would not help me, politically, if you accepted my faith as yours. And it certainly would not help me, personally. For I could not bear the thought of you making even more sacrifices for my sake. It would break my heart.”

Victor reaches for Yuuri’s hands which rest in his lap, gently interlacing their fingers the way they so very often do, a gesture of both intimacy and reassurance. Right now, it is neither the one nor the other, the gesture only an expression of how close Victor wants Yuuri to be to him. Yes, if he could, he would share absolutely everything with him. But at the same time, it is good that they are different people – with different backgrounds, different views, different faiths, even. Victor has never been bothered by that, has liked it, and especially the topic of faith has never come up so far. Not that they are not religious. Victor prays regularly, and he has seen the little religious items that Yuuri has brought with him upon coming to the palace. Their different views and practices have never separated them.

It would be terrible if it were doing so now.

“I want you to know this, Yuuri,” Victor continues quietly and squeezes his hand, “that you are free to choose for yourself in every aspect. That includes your faith. If you wish to follow my faith, then you are free to do so, but… please don’t do it because you think you have to. Do not let the clergy, especially not this horrible, terrible man, unsettle or upset you. They have no place in our hearts, or in our bed.”

He leans forward and kisses Yuuri on the forehead, and hopes that it will soothe his beloved’s worries.

Yuuri reaches into his coat and pulls out what appears to be a piece of jewellery at the first glance. As Victor takes a closer look, he sees that it is a necklace. The pendant is made of finest jade, carved into the symbol of the old gods.

“My mother gave this to me before I left,” Yuuri says and turns the pendant between his fingers. “She said my great-grandfather made it for his bride. For protection and comfort. She said that it would bring me protection and comfort, too.”

Victor says nothing, knowing that it is not his turn. Instead, he remains silent and listens as Yuuri’s thoughts as he speaks them out loud. Yuuri does not often do so, for he is a very private person, and Victor respects that. But each time Yuuri shares his innermost thoughts with him, Victor knows to accept them as the most valuable of gifts.

“My mother also gave me a warning,” Yuuri murmurs, “in her letter. She said that at the palace, people would try to change me. That I should always remember who I am.” His fingers close around the jade pendant and he holds it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. Perhaps a way of worship, Victor thinks. There is so much that he still does not know.

“I don’t want this man to change me,” Yuuri says, with more determination this time, “or to interfere with you and I. He has no place between us. And if the gods did not want it, they would not have brought me to you. I know that now. Both the old gods and the new. They look kindly upon us, I think.”

He finally looks up, finally allows Victor to meet his gaze. What the king finds in Yuuri’s eyes is the same passion that has intrigued him the day he has met him. In Yuuri’s eyes, there is love and adoration, but there is also tempest. His eyes are proof of the power that he possesses, the inner strength that guides Yuuri in everything he says and does.

“I have prayed day and night for your recovery,” Yuuri says softly, the pendant still tightly in his grasp. “I have prayed to your gods and mine and begged them to not take you away from me. I promised them that I would do everything it takes. And they listened.” He swallows thickly and lowers his hand, lets it rest in his lap again and opens his hand to look at the pendant. He brushes over it with his thumb, traces the fine carvings in the jade. “I know my place now, and it is at your side. It is where the gods have put me. And it is good that way.”

Yuuri lets go of the pendant and it drops into his lap as he turns to bury his face in Victor’s shoulder, and the king lets him. He is stunned into silence, does not know what to say, or even how. His tongue is tied, no word seems enough to describe what he feels.

There is a depth about Yuuri that he has known only little about, but now that he has heard its testimony, it is impossible to overlook. How much, Victor wonders, has Yuuri thought about this in the recent days, weeks, and months? How much has it pained him?

But Yuuri has spoken, and there is no pain in his words. Only reassurance, only confidence, only gratitude.

“You are the most marvellous, my Yuuri,” Victor whispers into his hair, “and entirely beyond compare.”

He pulls away just enough to press yet another kiss to Yuuri’s forehead, a gesture he is sure he will never grow tired of. “All I ask of you,” he says quietly, “is that you live for yourself, and according to your own nature.”

Yuuri smiles weakly at that. “Am I not too much?” He asks. “Am I not too loud, too present? Should I not hold myself back?”

“All of this I love so very much about you, my sweet,” Victor tells him. “Never hold yourself back, never conceal who you are. May it be in character, in behaviour, or in faith. I want you to be Yuuri, and no one else.”

Yuuri swallows thickly and averts his gaze, his hand coming up to touch the corner of his eye.

“You keep flattering me so,” he says with a light chuckle, “that I fear I shall burst into tears and arrive at our destination looking like a grieving widow.” He wipes away a few tears and then appears calmer again, his cheeks reddened by a blush. “I shall do my best, then. To be myself, and no one else.”

“You already do so exceptionally well,” Victor assures him with a chuckle and pulls him closer for a proper kiss to his lips. “And you will see how much you will be loved for it by others.”

“Except for the High Priest,” Yuuri remarks dryly. “But he has no say in who I am, and what I am to you. I despise him so.”

“Believe me, I despise him, too,” Victor assures him, just as the carriage drives through a hole in the road and causes them both to almost fall from their seats.

“Goodness!” Yuuri exclaims and holds onto the door, secured by Victor’s arm around his waist.

“Forgive me, your majesty!” The driver calls. “The ground is in a rather poor state here!”

“That means that we are approaching the estate,” Victor says and pulls Yuuri at his side, to sit firmly on the bench as the carriage continues to shake. “The roads are not in the best condition due to the sand. I have spoken to Chris about it, but there is little he can do. One fall of rain and it is all ruined again. Hold on tight, my sweet.”

Yuuri gives him a look. “I am not as fragile as it might seem,” he tells him, but holds on tight nonetheless as finally, the Giacometti estate comes into view in the distance. It sits on a high cliff overlooking the sea, with numerous paths down to the surrounding beaches. The road is lined with trees, smaller streets here and there leading down to small settlements that are surrounded by trees on which fruits grow. Upon spotting the royal train, the people working there abandon their baskets and run up the hill to the road, waving and cheering, for it does not happen often that the king comes here, but when he does, he is deeply loved, and welcomed warmly. Victor leans forward to wave at them in return, smiling as best as he can. Those people, he thinks, are the true people of his kingdom. These people are who matter the most. Not the courtiers, not the clergy, not nobility. The common people.

“It is his mistress!” Someone gasps as Yuuri leans forward to look outside the window, and suddenly, the people begin to call his name, too, begin to shout blessings and well-wishes. Yuuri blushes even more, shocked by the fact these people know him, but there is nowhere he could possibly go and hide.

“They must have heard about your good deeds at the nameless village,” Victor tells him. “Why don’t you wave at them?”

Yuuri exchanges an uncertain look with Victor, who squeezes his hand in encouragement. These people should not be calling his name, only Victor’s, he thinks.

“May you become queen, your grace!” A woman shouts and curtsies as the carriage drives by. Yuuri gasps, but Victor only chuckles and kisses his cheek.

“See?” He says. “These people know it, too. How much you deserve all of this.”

Yuuri is too embarrassed to reply, almost hiding in Victor’s embrace as the carriage drives past the people and towards the estate of Lord Giacometti. The closer they come, the more Yuuri realises how beautiful it is, and that it is much smaller than it seemed to be at first glance. But every place can look big with nothing around it in comparison, especially when it is located on a cliff. It is a gorgeous place, with green vines growing on the walls and flowers of various colours growing everywhere they can. The place opens up into an inner courtyard where their carriage finally, after hours, comes to a halt, and they have arrived.

For those who know Lord Giacometti, it would not be very surprising if he were to make a grand appearance now. Yes, he has always had a tendency to be flamboyant and dramatic, a quality that the king also possesses when he is in a good mood. But neither of them find this to be the right time and place to be extravagant. And so, the king’s arrival is a strangely quiet affair – although the master of the house comes to greet them with unveiled happiness about their visit.

“If that isn’t the disaster man himself and his darling!” Chris calls as he walks down the stairs, dressed in light robes fitting for this climate. He arrives just as a servant opens the door of the carriage and Yuuri comes out first, holding out his arm for Victor to take. Of course, Chris notices the reversal of their roles in an instant, but does not comment on it. Instead, he watches as Victor carefully gets out of the carriage and promptly coughs.

“Don’t die in my courtyard, will you,” Chris says with a chuckle to conceal his concern, earning a certain look from his friend that tells him that it is not as bad as it seems.

“How could I,” Victor says and reaches out to take his friend by the arms. “It is so good to see you again, Chris. And to be here again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my friend,” Chris laughs and pats Victor’s shoulders before he turns to greet Yuuri, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles. “Your grace, how lovely to see you again.”

“Let’s drop the formalities, shall we,” Victor suggests, putting an arm around Yuuri. “What do you think, my sweet?”

“Victor’s friends are my friends,” Yuuri smiles. “And besides, we have met already. The less formal we are, the better.”

“I approve of this one, Victor,” Chris chuckles and clasps his hands with a sigh. “My Phichit wanted to come and greet you with me, but the nurse came and said the children needed motherly intervention. Probably fighting over toys again.”

“How old are they now?” Victor asks as they begin to walk up the stairs together.

“Aran and Chatmanee turned three a few weeks ago,” Chris replies. “We gave them names from Phichit’s culture,” he adds in explanation for Yuuri. “Luis is a little over a year old now. Quite the strong little man, that I can assure you!”

“I hope to meet them all;” Yuuri says, holding Victor’s arm firmly as they finally reach the top of the stairs. He can feel Victor tremble, knows that walking up the stairs is very much exhausting for him, but of course, the king tries to hide it.

“Oh, you will,” Chris promises and leads them inside, where it is cool and where they are shielded from the curious glances of the servants of the house. “Come, let us take a seat in the drawing room and have a drink. You must be exhausted from the journey.” He leads them into a large room with huge doors that open up to a big balcony, from which they have a beautiful view of the sea below. Everything in the room looks foreign and familiar at the same time, and Yuuri realises that the furniture and decoration must come from various places. Together, they make a beautiful picture.

“If you were feeling better, Victor, I would have greeted you with your favourite wine from the area,” Chris says as he pours them cold drinks from a crystal carafe.

“Ah, maybe in a while,” Victor says and takes a seat on the sofa, Yuuri at his side. “We are not leaving anytime soon.”

“Quite right,” Chris says and hands them each a glass of what appears to be iced tea before sitting down in the armchair that fits his form so perfectly that it is obvious he has claimed it as his preferred seat a long time ago. From there, he studies Victor attentively, far more closely than one usually would look at the king, but they have been friends for a very long time. There is very little that Chris does not know about Victor, and especially in his own house, there are no formalities between them. After all, they are not in public.

“What does your gaze find, my friend?” Victor asks him with a small smile. “Do you think I’m handsome?”

“No,” Chris replies nonchalantly. Yuuri stares at him.

“What fault could you possibly find on me?” Victor asks with the very same nonchalance. “I have hands and feet. A face that does not cause people to scream at my sight.”

“You might be handsome most of the time,” Chris says, resting his chin on his hand, “but right now, you look like a man who has returned from the brink of a death most unfitting for a king. Really, Victor? A lung disease? I thought you would choose to get your candles blown out with more finesse.”

“It is not like I chose to fall sick,” Victor replies with a chuckle and takes a sip from his glass.

“And you must have scared your darling as a result!” Chris chides him playfully and looks at Yuuri, who is still not sure what to think of the banter between the alphas. “News travel far and wide, my friend. I have been told that Yuuri hardly ever left your side.”

Victor nods and takes Yuuri’s free hand. “He brought me back and prayed for me, day and night,” he says and looks at him lovingly. “Without him, I would not be here now.”

Yuuri blushes and squeezes Victor’s hand.

“Dear god, you are disgustingly sweet with one another,” Chris sighs dramatically. “Tell me, Yuuri, is he always like this?”

Yuuri chuckles. “Yes, he is.”

Chris opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by the arrival of a young man in a rich, red robe that practically blows as he rushes in and curtsies. “Forgive me, your majesty,” he says, sounding a little out of breath as he sinks down in greeting. “The children demanded my attention.”

“Ah, my dear Phichit,” Victor says with a warm smile and puts his glass aside to stand up again, Yuuri immediately rising to help him. “There is no need to apologise for looking after little ones. Besides, we shall be quite informal with each other from now on. Are we not already friends?”

The young man named Phichit rises again and smiles at the king, accepting his hand in greeting. “Indeed, we are, Mylord” he says, and his dark eyes shine warmly. He is a true beauty, Yuuri realises, both inside and out, radiating warmth and kindness. “I am so glad that you have made it here so quickly.”

“So are we,” Victor says. “May I introduce my darling jewel, Yuuri of Hasetsu?”

Phichit beams at him as if he had been waiting for this moment all day long. “Oh, I am so happy to finally meet you, your grace! My husband has told me so much about you already, and news travel far and wide about your good deeds and your kind heart.”

Yuuri blushes deeply. “I hope I can do my reputation justice.”

“It is well deserved,” Victor assures Phichit and sits down again with Yuuri, and Phichit takes a seat in the other vacant armchair. “Your husband was just insulting my complexion.”

“Chris!” Phichit gives the other man a playful slap on the arm. “That is not the right way to treat a guest.”

“Well, you cannot deny he is awfully pale,” Chris points out.

“You would be pale, too, if you had been bedridden with a cough and a fever,” Phichit gives back before looking at Victor again. “He is only trying to conceal how worried he was for you. He hardly slept.”

“Something that we have in common,” Chris says to Yuuri, who cannot help but smile a little at that. “What a relief it is to have you both here now. The sea air is exactly what one needs for getting better.”

“We are very much looking forward to the peace and quiet here,” Victor says. “Aren’t we, Yuuri?”

“Oh, peace and quiet is not exactly guaranteed with three little ones in the house,” Phichit laughs. “They are taking a nap now, but they are very excited that the king is here. Would you like to see them later?” He is now looking at Yuuri, who nods in an instant.

“I would love to,” he says, “and you, Victor?”

“Of course!” Victor nods. “I have yet to meet my youngest godchild.”

“After the nap, then,” Phichit decides. “Speaking of – you must be so exhausted from your travels. Perhaps you would like to lie down for a while before dinner?”

On that cue, Phichit shows them the rooms they will be living in for the time being – located in the south wing of the estate, in a corner that offers them both a view of the sea and a view of the lands surrounding them. In the distance, they can see a handful of villages, and the lights of the next larger harbour town. It is a beautiful place to live, and a true sanctuary, Yuuri thinks as Phichit leaves them alone, only Anatoly and Guang Hong as their company as they finish unpacking. Their rooms will be just as splendid, Victor is sure of that, as Chris is known for treating servants exceptionally well. In a large, padded basket rest Makkachin and Vicchan, already curled up around each other, as if to take a rest after the long trip, too.

In that regard, dogs and humans seem to be not much different.

“Will that be all, your majesty?” Anatoly asks as he and Guang Hong have finished unpacking.

Yuuri turns around to Victor as he does not give a reply, and sees that Victor has dozed off already, probably the moment his head has hit the pillow. He chuckles and turns around to the servants again, who seem equally amused.

“I think that is all for now,” Yuuri says, “thank you.”

They leave and Yuuri takes off his travel clothes and shoes, stretching his toes with a sigh. There is water in the washing bowl, which he uses to wash his face and arms to freshen up a bit. Then, he lies down on the bed next to Victor and kisses him, waking him up.

“Oh…” Victor murmurs, his hand coming up to rub his eyes. “I fell asleep.”

“Do not worry,” Yuuri says and kisses him again. “Get some rest.”

Victor nods, not even questioning him, as he is indeed tired and feels the exhaustion of travelling deep in his bones. It does not help that he is ill, either.

“Will you get some rest with me?” He asks Yuuri and runs his hand up his arm. “Until the world calls for us again?”

Yuuri nods and shuffles a bit closer, wrapping an arm around Victor in gentle protection. “The world has no place between us,” he whispers, “especially not here.”

Victor closes his eyes, and Yuuri rests his forehead against the king’s, and they fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you doing these days? I hope everyone is safe and healthy <3

**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe, wash your hands, keep a distance, brush your teeth, call your loved ones.


End file.
